


The Ballad of Thorin and Talaitha

by ArianaFandoms



Series: Soul Healing [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Rated E for smut, Richard Armitage - Freeform, Set after Soul Healing, So please read that first to avoid confusion and/or spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-12 02:31:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 38,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2092335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArianaFandoms/pseuds/ArianaFandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the events of <i>Soul Healing</i>, this series of one-shots follows Thorin and Talaitha's relationship--the good, the bad, and the smutty. Timeline will jump, but it's linear (i.e. no forward-back shifts, unless flashback). Recommended that you read <i>Soul Healing</i> first, as this series is based off of that and therefore contains spoilers (for it and for <i>The Hobbit</i>). </p><p>Images for this story can be found in "Thorin/Talaitha One-Shots Images". See the list of my works for the link.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Talaitha enjoy another type of exploration. Rated M.

_You had Jesus on your breath, and I caught him in mine, sweating our confessions, the undone and the divine. 'Cause this is his body. This is his love. Such selfish prayers, and I can't get enough._ -"Bedroom Hymns" Florence + The Machine

Dusk is descending as they walk along the cobblestone streets, their fingers loosely intertwined. Thorin could imagine more days like this, more carefree romps in the fields. He likes Nemere, and not only because it is Talaitha's home. He likes that the people are welcoming, even if they don't always speak a language he understands. He likes the food, the gold and green landscapes, and how civilized Lelle is.

But most of all, he likes seeing Talaitha in her environment, as the guide, rather than as the visitor.

They stop in front of a small house whose sloping roof is adorned with green and yellow tiles. That color combination, he notices, is the most prevalent in the city, reflecting the island's reputation for healing.

"Is this the inn?" Thorin asks, bemused, because it doesn't seem large enough.

"Of course not. It's my home."

Talaitha sounds nervous, adding to Thorin's confusion. He squeezes her hand, unsure how else to react, and the gesture reassures her enough to unlock the door and lead him inside.

It's dim in the house. Thorin can only make out her silhouette, while she flits about the room, rustling papers and occasionally banging things on tables. Then, candle after candle is lit, casting a warm, orange glow on the interior. The first thing he sees are her seven bookshelves, filled to the top with books. Some of them are in the Common Tongue, some in Sindarin, but most are in Szila, the szelemér's native language. His gaze moves to her twin daggers, which are displayed crisscrossed on the wall, with her sword mounted on the opposite wall. It seems a shame for such fine weapons to be mere decoration, but Thorin supposes she has little use for them in Nemere. It is a bittersweet realization, reminding him that violence had been the backdrop for much of their relationship. Well, that would change now.

As Thorin continues to explore her home, Talaitha disappears into her bedroom. She's in there for so long that Thorin begins to wonder if she is having second thoughts about their relationship. But just as he considers knocking on the door, it opens.

His jaw drops at the sight that greets him.

Talaitha is standing in the doorway, wearing a midriff-baring costume, like that of the dancers in the market square. Her hips sway as she walks towards him and guides him to a chair, moving away before he can reach out to touch her skin.

"You seemed intrigued by the dancers," she says, getting into position. "So I thought you might like a private demonstration." Thorin swallows hard and nods. "Mind you, I haven't done this in a long time, but I think my body still remembers."

He watches, transfixed, as her hips begin to sway from side-to-side, then front-to-back in an undulating motion that makes her belly ripple sensually. Her arms accentuate the supple motions, and, depending on the step, her gaze alternates between him and the floor. With her left foot in front of the right, she pushes her hips out and moves them in a circle, before swinging them around in a slow turn. The blue, layered skirt swishes enticingly around her calves. Her body is hard and soft, muscles flexing alongside seductive curves. He yearns to touch, to feel that delicious undulation beneath his palms and against his body.

His legs part slightly, warm tendrils of desire snaking down to his groin. Somehow he restrains himself from reaching out, despite the twitch of his fingers. She rests a hand on his thigh, and Thorin instinctively spreads his legs to allow her to stand between them. They watch each other, pupils dilating, while Talaitha continues to roll her hips in the cage of his thighs. Then, with her back to him, she bends forward, bringing her buttocks tantalizingly close to his groin.

"Is _this_ part of the ceremonial dance, too?" he asks. His voice is deep and rough, already tinged with lust.

Talaitha faces him and steps away, coaxing his legs together. "No," she replies, with a wicked smile. "But I think you'll like it even better."

Thorin's mouth goes dry when she straddles his lap, her thighs spread and her core pressing into him. She rotates her hips, mimicking her previous motions, but this time, he groans as she rocks against his half-hard cock. His breeches grow uncomfortably tight, so he shifts in an effort to relieve some of the pressure. But all that does is send a jolt of arousal to his erection.

Talaitha is enjoying tormenting him far too much, her hands braced on his chest and a smirk on her lips. After months of abstinence, something snaps inside him. He grips her waist and grinds her sex against his length. Now it's his turn to smirk, as he's rewarded with a sharp gasp.

"You have teased me long enough," he growls and surges up to kiss her.

Their lips meet in a bruising encounter, his tongue seeking entrance almost immediately. It is passionate and rough and not at all how he had planned their reunion to be. But they both have so many suppressed emotions, good and bad, that it's perfect.

Yet kissing is not enough.

Thorin pushes up her skirt and trails his hands up her bare thighs to reach her core. His fingers find wetness there, as they stroke her vagina. The touches are gentle at first, but soon Talaitha is pushing her pelvis into his hand, silently asking for more. Thorin obliges. He rubs her clit, transfixed by her increasingly ragged breaths.

His ministrations are interrupted when she frees his erection from his breeches. Thorin hisses when her hand wraps around the base, brushing along the length to the engorged head. Fluid leaks from the tip, and she spreads it as she circles the glans with her thumb. While she slowly brings him apart, she kisses him, her tongue swirling against his so sensually that it steals his breath. His nerve endings are on fire. Heat pools in his belly.

"I need you." Thorin intends for it to sound like a demand, but it is more akin to a plea. "Take me, Talaitha. I need to feel you."

And after over a year without her, he really _does_ need to feel her.

Talaitha complies, lifting onto her knees and holding him steady at her entrance. Their gazes lock, as the head of his cock breaches her folds and she slides down onto him. He groans at the tight, slick heat that envelopes him, so familiar yet almost foreign. There was a time when he thought he would never experience this again.

He is completely sheathed, their pelvises touching, and he holds for a moment to enjoy the sensation. Thorin is blessed with a generous girth, as is wont of dwarves, but he feels even larger buried inside her, the tip of his erection brushing her cervix. She accommodates him, though, with only the slightest wince of pain.

"Move," she breathes, leaning forward to brace her hands on the back of the chair.

Thorin does, guiding her with his hands on her hips, then thrusting up as he lowers her. He repeats the motion over and over, relishing the way her lips part to emit the most glorious sounds. In this position, her clit rubs against his pubic bone and his cock drags against the roof of her channel, sending bolts of desire through her.

As their pleasure builds, their coupling becomes more desperate, bordering on frantic. He pulls her against him, her arms wrapping around his neck to steady herself. Breaths mingle in messy, open-mouthed kisses. Talaitha moans, as the new angle causes his cock to spear into that bundle of nerves, until her entire body tenses and her head falls back, exposing her pale neck to Thorin's greedy lips. She cries out, her inner walls clenching around him to bring him to his own release, which washes over him with a deep moan. Slamming her down, his hips jerk erratically to fill her with his seed.

He is almost dizzy with pleasure, and for a moment, he can only sit there, gasping. Talaitha's hands move to the back of his head, holding him to her while he descends from his high. His breath is hot on her neck, and he tightens his arms around her, inhaling her scent. He feels warm and sated and like he has finally come home. It's something he never wants to go without again.

"I did not intend for that to happen," Talaitha quips.

Thorin pulls away just enough to see her face, his expression full of love. "The best things are often those which take you by surprise." He leans up to kiss her, his lips gentle now that his lust has been slaked.

"Like us, you mean?"

"Especially us," he smiles. "When I knocked on that green door, I had no idea my One stood behind it. But when I saw you curled up in that ridiculous armchair, I instantly knew."

Talaitha laughs, her eyes shining with affection. "And I knew when I heard you sing about your home."

He looks at her, his gaze simultaneously intense and soft.

"I have not done this before." His voice is tinged with uncertainty, mirroring his words. "But I believe I must ask your father's permission first."

"My father's permission for what?" she questions. Thorin cups the back of her neck, and suddenly, she understands. "Oh. For _that_."

"Is it not a szelemér custom?"

"Not a custom, no. More like a choice. Some do it, some don't."

"And I suppose you would rather I not," he says wryly.

"Well, no. I mean, if you want to..."

Thorin's smile grows. "I shall not, then."

"But if it's dwarvish custom, you should."

"It _is_ dwarvish custom," he affirms. "But we view women differently, especially since there are so few of them. Fathers cannot afford to marry off their daughters to dwarves who would treat them ill. That is why we have such long courtships."

Talaitha arches a brow. "So you mean that because szelemér women are more plentiful, we are expendable to our fathers?"

"That is not what I mean," he says pointedly. "You are more precious to me than anything--than any _one--_ in the world. But you are also your own woman. Therefore, the only person's permission I must ask is yours."

A smile tugs at her lips. How well he knew her.

"Will you marry me, Talaitha?"

With their lower halves still joined and slick with seeping fluids, it is not the most romantic of proposals, but it's fitting and intimate. It's unceremonious, simple, and almost a second thought. It's _them_ , she realizes.

"Of course I will." Talaitha brushes a strand of sweat-damp hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering on his ear cuff. "But I thought that was obvious when I said I would return to Erebor with you."

"Hush, woman, or I shall change my mind," he grumbles and lightly pinches her side. Thorin knows she only teases, but he cannot resist reciprocating.

He is rewarded with giggles, and when he kisses her, he catches her teeth instead of her lips. He grins and does it again, enjoying the way it makes her laugh harder.

Eventually, they move from the chair to the bedroom, where they repeat their earlier activities, until the growling of their stomachs becomes too insistent to ignore.

 


	2. Father-in-Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin meets Tardos, and Thorin and Talaitha share a cute domestic moment.
> 
>  **Tardos Acél** is pronounced _Tar_ -doshe (long "o") _Uhts_ -ale. It's an ancient Hungarian name meaning "to remain." **Apu** is Szila (i.e. Hungarian) for "father," or an affectionate variant of it. 
> 
> At this point, I think I should explain the background of the szelemér a bit. They're really an amalgamation of Hungarian (language, names, mythology, architecture, some customs), Romani/Gypsy (apparel, customs), Indian/Turkish (apparel), and my feminist views (e.g. women's relative autonomy). Nemere is a large island (larger than the British Isles) situated off the southwest coast of Middle-earth, which accounts for its warm climate. If you look at a map of Arda (Middle-earth), it would lay roughly between the Isen River and the Andrast Mountains, but in the sea, obviously.

It isn't a difficult decision to marry Thorin. Talaitha loves him, after all, and she supposes it's the next, inevitable step in their story together. Marriage wouldn't really change anything between them, but it would certainly change everything for her. Besides legitimizing her position as king's consort, it would also make her queen. Which is something she has never wanted and has, in fact, always dreaded. She knew the consequences when she agreed to marry Thorin and had but one condition.

A traditional szelemér wedding before they leave Nemere.

Thorin has no idea what a traditional szelemér wedding entails, and that ignorance makes him nervous. All he knows is that he is meant to give her a gift, something she can wear during the ceremony to symbolize how the groom views the bride. He considers something plant-related, perhaps incorporating her epithet flower, but it's too superficial. Something with a more personal meaning, then.

True to his dwarvish nature, jewelry is his next idea. Necklaces with gold and silver discs seem to be common adornments in Nemere, so he decides to include some of those to incorporate her culture. Choosing a stone that embodies what Talaitha means to him, Thorin gets to work and spends the entire day in Talaitha's father's blacksmith shop. Tardos Acél gives him free rein, though he periodically comes in to observe with a critical eye. When the necklace is finished, it's the most unique piece Thorin has ever created. Not only are szelemér styles unlike any he has seen in Middle-earth, but every part of the necklace is infused with significance.

And, dare he say, love.

"If I didn't know you made it, I would think it was of szelemér craftsmanship," Tardos remarks. He inspects the necklace in the light, seeming pleased with the result.

"Do you think she'll like it?"

Tardos arches an eyebrow, and in that moment, Thorin realizes where Talaitha's penchant for the gesture originated.

"Shouldn't _you_ know that?" The szelemér hands Thorin the necklace. "After all, you knew her well enough not to request my permission to marry her."

"I-"

"It was the right choice," Tardos assures and grasps Thorin's shoulder. "Though I must admit I was surprised when she told me. My daughter is not always forthcoming with personal information."

"So I have learned," Thorin says wryly. "If she had her way, I would still probably not know she is a princess."

"No indeed," Tardos smiles. But Thorin sees something melancholic in the szelemér's eyes.

"I will take care of Talaitha," he promises. "You have my word as a king."

Tardos waves his hand dismissively. "I have little regard for kings."

"Then you have my word as the dwarf who loves your daughter."

"That is more reassuring," the szelemér agrees. He meets Thorin's gaze. "I may not always agree with Talaitha's choices, but I always trust her judgment. She loves you, and she is not one to fall in love on a whim."

The gentle warning is not lost on Thorin.

"Neither are dwarves," he replies. "When we do find love, it is for life."

"But you have loved another," Tardos says.

"I have and still do." Thorin pauses, waiting for the blacksmith's reaction, who merely nods and indicates for him to continue. "She died in the dragon attack, but even if she had lived, our future would have been uncertain."

"Yet a century later, you still love her." Tardos walks into the adjoining room and returns with two cups of a clear-colored liquid. Thorin doesn't need to ask to know it's alcohol, for the sharp scent reaches him before the cup does.

Tardos takes a swig, and Thorin follows suit. The liquor is as strong as it smells, but as he swallows it, he tastes plum.

"This is _pálinka_ , our fruit brandy. It's a tradition to drink it with the man who is to marry your daughter," the szelemér explains. "Can you love Talaitha when there is already another in your heart?"

"My love for your daughter is different from my love for the other." Thorin takes another sip of the brandy, considering how to proceed. "It's stronger, for one, and I know it would have been even if Riva had survived. When I met Talaitha, I felt something I never have before. Not love, not immediately, but a sense of completeness."

Tardos' expression is unreadable as he says, "Then I am convinced."

Further conversation is prevented, as the door of the shop opens and Talaitha walks in. Thorin quickly drops the necklace into his pocket. He intends to give it to her when they are alone, for he will not share its significance with anyone else.

"What are you two up to?" Talaitha asks suspiciously. She sniffs the contents of Thorin's cup and grimaces. "You gave him the worst one, _Apu_. Not that there's a good _pálinka_ , but at least the apple is a bit less vile."

"It's the only one I had in the shop," Tardos says and kisses Talaitha's forehead. "But I have finished with your betrothed. You may whisk him away to plan the wedding."

He laughs when the grimace reappears on his daughter's face and Thorin's eyes widen.

"Even I wouldn't subject him to that," Talaitha replies, peering into her father's cup. She continues talking as she walks into the back room. "I wanted a simple wedding with just family and friends, but Uncle insists it must be grand." Talaitha returns with the bottle of plum brandy and a third cup.

"You _are_ a princess," Tardos reminds her. He watches with raised eyebrows while she not only refills his and Thorin's goblets, but also pours some of the liquor for herself.

Talaitha scoffs. "What logic." She takes a drink and nearly chokes when the _pálinka_ burns a trail down her throat. Thorin rubs her back until her coughing subsides, finding her intolerance to the alcohol endearing. "And _Anyu_ encourages him! She tried to make me choose colors today."

"Tried to?" Thorin questions.

"I told her to pick, because she's better at those things than I am." Talaitha stares at her brandy, contemplating another swig, but pours it into Thorin's cup instead. "Thankfully, though, a lot of the important people Uncle wanted to invite wouldn't have made it to Lelle in time."

"I can extend-"

"No," Talaitha snaps, glaring at Thorin. "You _can't_ extend your stay."

The dwarf shares an amused glance with Tardos, before he takes Talaitha's hand.

"You're right, of course."

She knows he's placating her, but she nevertheless feels some of the tension dissipate. Squeezing his hand, she says to her father, "I think I shall whisk him away now, if you two are done bonding over _pálinka_."

"We are," Tardos affirms. He kisses her forehead again. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Thorin bids him good night and allows Talaitha to lead him from the shop. It's nearly dark by the time they reach her home.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, walking into the kitchen, while Thorin strips to his undershirt and breeches. "I bought a duck today."

He comes up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist.

"I am," he breathes against her neck. "But not for food."

"I think that brandy has gone to your head. Or...you know." Talaitha swats at his hand, but he doesn't release her. "Fine. If you insist on being difficult, you're coming along."

She moves about the kitchen, collecting vegetables and cookware, with Thorin shuffling behind her. His face remains buried in the crook of her neck the entire time, and it's a wonder he doesn't trip and send them crashing to the floor in a heap of limbs and potatoes.

"It's not the brandy," he says finally. "It's your scent. After you left, I slept on your pillow until it began to smell like me."

Talaitha leans into him and rests her hands atop his. "I wish I'd had the foresight to steal your pillow."

Thorin chuckles, as he nuzzles her neck again. "I have missed you, my _ughvashâ_."

Tears prickle in her eyes at the familiar term of endearment, but she blinks them away.

"Good, then you can help me make dinner."

"Gladly," he says. "But I warn you. Dís says I am a terrible cook."

"You can peel the potatoes. That doesn't require cooking." She pulls away but hesitates before giving him the knife. "Do kings peel potatoes?"

"This one does." He takes the knife and catches her hand. "You forget that I have been the pauper prince for far longer than the king."

"So does that mean fifty years from now you won't peel potatoes anymore?"

"Aulë, help me," he sighs. "You are nearly as bad as Kíli sometimes."

Talaitha grins. "But you love us."

"Aye," Thorin murmurs, kissing her nose. "That I do."

 


	3. The Sun and the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin gives Talaitha her marriage gift.

The morning of the wedding, Thorin is pacing Talaitha's kitchen, waiting for her to emerge from the bedroom. He will soon be whisked away by her male relatives so she can dress in privacy, for szelemér custom dictates that the groom is not to see his bride in her wedding gown until the ceremony. Everyone will be watching his reaction, not only because he's a foreigner, but also because Talaitha is well-respected. He realizes now that her desire to have a traditional szelemér wedding was about more than just tradition. It was for him to understand how she feels about marrying the king of Erebor, about the uncertainty of how their people will receive them, and about the pressure of being one of the few to love outside their respective races. He understands why she'd hesitated and why she had done as Dáin demanded.

And admires her all the more for it.

"You'll wear out the floor doing that."

Thorin looks up. Talaitha is standing in the doorway, clad in a white, satin dressing gown that leaves little to the imagination.

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

Her eyebrows furrow in concern, and Thorin immediately goes to her side.

"Never," he assures, stroking her cheek. "But I know now that the woman I am to marry is so much more than my lover. She is a healer, a daughter, a friend, a colleague." He brings her hand to his lips, kissing it gently. "And a princess."

Talaitha smiles. "Seeing me with my kin has made you think, then."

"It has," affirms Thorin. He withdraws the necklace from his pocket. "And I think it's time I gave you this."

"You made this?" she asks, touching the gold, coin-like discs.

"I did."

"It's lapis lazuli." Talaitha looks up at him with an unreadable expression. "To the szelemér, it means-"

"Eternally faithful love." He smiles warmly. "I did my research."

"Yes, you did," she agrees faintly. "May I?"

Talaitha turns around, moving her hair out of the way, as he fastens the necklace around her neck. She places a hand over the gold pendant, tears prickling her eyes.

"A sun," she whispers.

"A sun," he nods. "Because Nemere means 'meadows of the sun' in your language." His hand on her waist prompts her to face him again. "You are my sun, Talaitha. You have brightened my life from the moment you entered it. You have given me life, quite literally."

"Well, then," she says, running her fingers through Thorin's silver-streaked hair. "The sun must also have her moon."

He kisses her, his lips moving tenderly with hers, but it doesn't last long. A knock at the door shatters their bliss.

"My family," Talaitha sighs. "You must go with the men."

"And you must remain with the women," he says, touching his forehead to hers. "This custom is not so very different from ours."

"Good," she replies and kisses his nose. A second, more insistent knock follows. "Now go. Before my uncle orders someone to break down my door."

"I'm going," Thorin laughs. He steals one last kiss, then opens the door.

Talaitha's female relatives shuffle inside, while Thorin joins the men. He doesn't know where they're taking him, so he just follows along, garnering curious glances from the passing szelemér. Many of them wave small, blue cloths at him. He's not sure if the attention is because he's a dwarf, or because the king of Nemere is walking through the city without his guards.

"Do you do this often?" Thorin inquires.

"Do what?" Árpád regards him with amusement. "Walk through my city?"

"Unarmed."

"I do," the szelemér king replies. "Do you not interact freely with your people?"

"Of course," says Thorin. "But I know not all kings do."

"Then they are not worthy of the responsibility."

Árpád stops at a market stall and buys a pastry for himself, his son, Thorin, and Talaitha's father. The shopkeep hesitates to accept the money, but Árpád closes her hand around the coins.

"A king can rule all he wants, but a city cannot thrive without its people."

Thorin hums in approval. "I see why Talaitha respects you so."

"And you," says Árpád, regarding the dwarf. "My niece is very dear to me, Thorin Oakenshield. She is young, but neither her parents nor her aunt ever thought she would marry."

"I didn't either," Thorin replies wryly.

The king chuckles. "Yet here you are, a dwarf on his marriage march through a szelemér city."

"Marriage march?" Thorin raises his eyebrows. "I thought I was merely being taken away so I wouldn't see Talaitha's gown."

"That, too," Árpád agrees. "It is tradition for the bride and groom to arrive separately after a long procession through the town. That is why the people are waving blue handkerchiefs at us."

Thorin glances at the group of children that has been following them since the market. Sure enough, like many of the other szelemér, the children are holding cloth pieces.

"Why blue?" Thorin asks.

"It is the color of honesty and loyalty," Árpád answers, waving at the children. "It symbolizes constancy and devotion, particularly in marriage." He smiles when Thorin takes the handkerchief a little girl offers him. "They have accepted you."

"How do they know _I_ am the one to marry Talaitha?"

"You are the only dwarf, for one," says Árpád. "And you walk with her male relatives. Lelle is a close-knit city, and Talaitha, by virtue of her profession and position, is well-known."

"So she will do the same thing we are?"

Árpád nods. "We go through a lot of blue dye," he says gravely.

#

Thorin stands in the pavilion of the royal palace, beneath a white lilac tree, unable to take his gaze off the woman beside him. Not even Erebor restored could compare with the beauty of the sight before him. Talaitha's light blue gown is of traditional szelemér design, consisting of a cropped top with sheer sleeves and a long, layered skirt that swirls around her feet when she walks. The sunlight glints off the golden embellishments and makes the blue jewels in her headdress sparkle. The necklace he had crafted for her fits with the color theme, providing a calming contrast to the brighter shades.

Talaitha notices his expression and flashes him a dazzling smile. He forgets how to breathe.

Árpád addresses the guests, then indicates Thorin should take Talaitha's hand. The king recites the ceremony first in Szila, to which Talaitha replies, then in the Common Tongue for Thorin. The vows differ slightly from those of the dwarves. Instead of the husband pledging to protect his wife, both partners promise to look after each other. There is no mention of serving, but remaining faithful is as important to the szelemér as it is to the dwarves. Whatever one partner agrees to, the others does, too, beginning the marriage on equal ground.

Thorin and Talaitha hold out their joined hands, as Árpád wraps around them a long swatch of blue fabric, decorated with their respective family crests. With their other hand, they take a wild strawberry off the plate and feed it to each other to symbolize that neither will attempt to "tame" the other. The strawberry is followed by a raspberry, symbolizing love and fertility.

The ceremony is short and simple, yet steeped in meaning. Once it is complete, the newly married couple walks through the city, while the people throw flower petals and wave blue handkerchiefs at them. Unsurprisingly, the flowers are lilacs.

"Is lilac important to the szelemér?" he asks Talaitha. They are approaching the palace again, where the celebration is to be held.

"Not particularly," she replies. "But it blooms in May, so it's quite abundant."

"The air is perfumed with it," he says, plucking a white petal from her hair. "The scent brings back memories."

Talaitha smiles fondly. "Thank you for agreeing to this. It means more to me than you know." She squeezes his hand. "And to my family."

"I would do anything for you," he avows, nuzzling into her neck. "And I have a surprise for you after the feast."

She pulls away to look at him. "Is it better than the surprise of finding you in the healing ward?"

"You didn't seem very pleased to see me, so perhaps," he replies. She begins to protest, but Thorin kisses her quiet. "I jest, my _ûrzud_. I understand why you greeted me as you did."

Talaitha leans into him for a moment, savoring her time with him before they must join the others. She knows they will be separated, then, for she will have to slip into the role of princess and meet the guests, many of whom only speak Szila.

But, as if reading her thoughts, Thorin's hand tightens around hers. "You will not be alone."

She gives him a final smile and leads him into the gardens. True to his word, he never once leaves her side.

#

"Do you even know where you're going?"

Thorin grunts in what Talaitha assumes to be affirmation and walks faster through the forest. She hikes up her skirt to prevent it from catching on the brambles, hurrying after him.

"It's just...you know...you got lost in Hobbiton."

"Because I'd never been there before," he replies. "But I _have_ been here."

It is only when Thorin glances back at Talaitha, as she struggles to navigate the forest in her gown, that he realizes the impracticality of his plan.

Well, that's easily remedied.

He sweeps Talaitha into his arms, bending down to whisper against her lips, "This is better, is it not?"

"Infinitely." She smiles and kisses him. "Just don't get distracted and trip."

"I would never, for I carry the most precious cargo."

Talaitha rests her head against his chest, attempting to hide her blush. "Who knew under that gruff exterior was such a sweet dwarf."

"No one, I assure you," he says, with a half-smile. "Not even I."

The grass of the forest floor gives way to light purple flowers, which densely carpet the ground. Thorin finally sets Talaitha on to her feet, but not before stealing another kiss. She gazes at their surroundings, her throat constricting with emotion.

"I used to come here as a child," she says softly, crouching down to touch the flowers. "This is where my mother and I would make up stories." She looks at Thorin, who is draping his cloak on the ground. "How did you know?"

"When you had gone to work, I asked your mother where it was." He holds out his hand to her and guides her to sit. "I thought we could create our own story tonight."

"There's a full moon," she murmurs, glancing up at the night sky. "And it's particularly silver. I think the moon knows you're here and is trying to outshine you."

Thorin lies on his back, pulling her with him. His arm snakes around her waist, as she snuggles into his chest.

"Is it succeeding?"

"No," she says, threading her fingers through his silver-streaked hair. "It could never outshine you."

He trails a finger down her cheek and smiles. "Then I am relieved."


	4. Sleep-Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless fluff and morning sex. Rated M.

The morning sunlight bounces off her hair, turning it a fiery copper color. He watches her sleep, listens to her steady breaths that gently flutter against his skin. She is lying on her side, face pillowed into his chest, the palm of one hand above his heart. Her other hand is tucked against her breasts, underneath her chin, and her smooth legs are tangled with his. She is beautiful, and she is his wife, if only by szelemér law. But he is content with that. And he would always be content with that, were he not king.

She stirs, moving her legs against his and snuggling closer into his warmth. But she is warm, too--deliciously so. Sleep-warm. She smells of lilacs and sunshine and the forest at night. She smells familiar and safe, like home yet not of his ancestral home. It is a new home, a spiritual home rather than a physical one.

It is Talaitha.

It is the woman who is peering up at him through sleepy, green eyes.

Thorin can't help but smile.

"Good morning, my _ûrzud_."

"Good morning, my _husband_ ," she says, tilting her head up to reach his lips. "Let's not leave this bed today."

He kisses her slowly, simply. There is no need to hurry now that they are together.

"I am amenable to that," he murmurs and kisses her again. Her arm wraps around his waist, tugging his lower body closer. He feels himself stirring, hardening, as their flesh touches. Thorin almost allows himself to get lost in Talaitha, until he remembers the night before.

"If you are too sore," he begins but breaks off when he sees her amused expression. "I only mean that our...activities were rather vigorous last night-"

"And this morning."

"-so if you would rather refrain now, I am fine with that."

"Thorin," she says, and he feels like a child being humored. "Part of the fun of staying in bed all day _is_ the sex. Of course I'm sore. But it is a pleasant soreness." She hitches her thigh over his, bringing her core into contact with his groin. "Especially when I remember _why_ I am sore."

He groans and grips her thigh, grinding their pelvises together. "You are insatiable."

"Says the dwarf with the erection."

"I cannot help it," Thorin murmurs, nuzzling into her neck. He nips and sucks a light bruise against her pale skin. "I am helpless to resist you."

Talaitha guides his hand down to her womanhood, where his fingers quickly become slicked with her wetness.

"The feeling is mutual, then," she breathes.

His cock twitches in anticipation.

"I will be gentle."

Those are his last coherent words before he captures her lips in a searing kiss. It is rough and passionate, a direct contrast to his hands on her breasts and core. Fingers toy with her nipples, stroke her folds, circle her clit. She takes his hardness into her hand, thumbs over the slit, spreads the translucent fluid gathering at the tip. Her motions mimic his, speeding up and slowing down when his do, building their mutual pleasure. He bucks into her hand when she gives a particularly effective twist, which coincides with two of his fingers finding her internal bundle of nerves.

They look at each other and, without words, guide his cock into her opening. Her soft hiss echoes his groan. He immediately stills, but her hand on his buttocks urges him to continue, until he is buried inside her and their pubic bones meld. It is bliss. It is heat and texture and tightness. It is familiar, yet he doesn't think he will ever tire of it.

"Move," she whispers against his lips.

And he does, carefully at first, then with increasing confidence as her expression relaxes into one of pleasure. His thrusts are long, and with each one, he strikes that sensitive spot on her vaginal wall. Their breaths become pants, warm air ghosting over the other's lips. Fingers scrabble for purchase on shoulders, thighs, buttocks, and hips, unable to decide which expanse of skin to touch. Thorin's finally settle on her thigh, hitching it further onto his hip, while Talaitha's grip his shoulder. They are so close that her breasts are flush against his chest, the hair there teasing her nipples with every movement.

Their breathing grows erratic and mingles with their moans. His hips begin to lose their rhythm, as heat pools at the base of his spine. She clenches around him just as he reaches his peak with a grunt, followed by a deep groan. They mix with Talaitha's cry, as she falls over the edge, her inner muscles squeezing him until he is utterly spent.

They remain joined long after he has softened, sharing lazy kisses and touches. When they finally do separate, it is only for Talaitha to turn onto her other side and for Thorin to mold his body around hers.

They fall asleep like that, cocooned in the warmth of the sun, the blankets, and each other.

 

 

 


	5. The Month

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwarves have a pre-marital custom. Talaitha doesn't like it.

_Erebor_

It is a truth universally acknowledged that dwarves must abstain from sex for a month before marriage. Or it _would_ be such a truth, if one were a dwarf.

But Talaitha is not a dwarf. Ergo, Thorin's revelation during breakfast comes as a rude surprise.

"A month?" she asks, with wide eyes.

"A month," Thorin nods, observing her over the rim of his goblet.

"But we're already married," she says dryly.

"By szelemér law, but not by dwarvish law," he reminds her. "The abstinence symbolizes pre-marital chastity."

Talaitha snorts. "We're about as chaste as a tavern wench."

Thorin resists the urge to smile, both at her choice of phrase and at her attempts to circumvent the custom.

"Which is why the symbol of it is doubly important." He chews thoughtfully on a piece of bread. "It is like your procession through town and the blue handkerchiefs."

"Yes, but those are a walk and... _handkerchiefs_ ," she protests. "Not a complete abstinence from sex for thirty days."

"We have gone longer without sex."

"Only because we were always surrounded by dwarves and a hobbit," Talaitha replies. "And then because we were separated by a sea."

This time he does smile, fondly. "The month will pass quickly. You'll see."

"You say that now, Thorin, but you won't be so sanguine about this a week from now."

Thorin would scoff, if he were the type. "Before I met you, I'd been celibate for years. A month is nothing in comparison."

"Bold words for someone who's ripped many a garment trying to get it off me." She arches a brow and smirks. "But if you're so confident in your ability to resist me, let's play a little game."

"Go on," he urges, watching with interest as Talaitha walks towards him.

"We continue on as before, sleeping in the same bed until the ceremony." She leans forward to whisper hotly in his ear. "Without sex, of course." Her lips brush his skin, sending a tingling warmth down his spine. "And we'll see how _hard_ your resolve is by the end of it."

He grabs her wrist and pulls her into his lap. "I think you'll find it _quite_ hard."

"Are we speaking of your will..." She adjusts her position, her backside grazing a particularly sensitive area. "Or of something else?"

"My will, of course," he says calmly, but his hands tighten on her waist.

"Of course." She fidgets again, and it's all he can do not to groan. "You've nothing to worry about, then." Talaitha kisses his nose and vacates his lap. A wry smile forms on her lips when she sees the tenting of his breeches. "I'll see you at dinner, my love."

As Thorin watches her walk out of the room, he's sure she is deliberately exaggerating the sway of her hips. He looks down at his groin, and this time, he does groan.

If he's already this affected at the start of the month, he dreads to think how he will manage the rest of it.

 

 


	6. The Fortnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin doesn't like the custom either.

Two weeks into their month of abstinence, Thorin reluctantly admits--only to himself, of course--that Talaitha was right. Each night they share his bed, and each night he can barely resist hiking up her nightdress and taking her. He's banished them to their respective sides, but they always manage to move closer to each other during the night. He's tried shoving a pillow in between them, but by morning, it is kicked to the end of the bed and her body is pressed into his. He's tried thinking about battles and orc blood and the stench of Goblin Town, but then Talaitha shifts and he gets a whiff of lilac.

His predicament has gotten so bad that he _hurts_.

And that's why Thorin is striding purposefully towards the kitchens, heedless of the curious glances of the passing dwarves. He stops at the doorway, hidden in the shadows, listening and watching.

"Now add the eggs and mix them together with the butter and flour," Talaitha instructs. She wipes her hands on her apron, as Nifha combines the ingredients.

Dís appears in Thorin's view, carrying a bunch of chives. "Who did you say gave you this recipe?"

"A hobbit named Bilbo Baggins," Talaitha replies. "He was your brother's burglar."

"Fíli talks about him sometimes," says Nifha. She scoops the chopped chives into the batter and drops large spoonfuls of it onto the baking pans. "Mr. Baggins is a good friend of yours, is he not, Talaitha?"

"He is," the fairy smiles. "I miss him. And his cooking."

"Fortunately he doesn't keep his recipes secret, then," Nifha laughs. "But surely he will come for your wedding."

"He will, for both Thorin and me."

"My brother seems a changed dwarf since his quest," Dís muses, as she slides the baking pans into the oven. "Although, according to Balin, he is more like his old self before Erebor was lost."

"Was I really so cantankerous?" Thorin asks, walking into the kitchen with a wry smile on his face.

Nifha bows her head in respect, but Dís just rolls her eyes.

"Almost always, especially when Father would make you go into the human towns for supplies," she says, her blue eyes twinkling. "But you were always kind with me and your nephews."

"I'll bet you have some diverting stories of when Fíli and Kíli were dwarflings," Talaitha remarks.

"Horrifying stories, more like," Dís snorts. "They were little terrors. Kíli was always covered in mud and dust and leaves, and Fíli carried his wooden, toy sword _everywhere_ with him. He even slept with it, one arm around the sword and the other arm around Kíli."

Thorin chuckles. "I remember well. Kíli tried to take it once, so Fíli pulled his hair."

Nifha and Talaitha giggle.

"I'm surprised he did not do worse," says Dís, then to Nifha, "This is the dwarf you are courting, my dear. One who loves his weapons nearly as much as his woman."

The young she-dwarf blushes. "He _does_ sharpen his knives more frequently than necessary."

Dís nods. "But Fíli was also the more serious one, like you, Thorin." She smiles sadly. "Whereas Kíli is like Frerin." Thorin takes her hand, and her smile warms. "Remember when you used to take them to the woods? You'd return with half the forest in your hair."

"Because when Kíli would get tired, I'd put him up on my shoulders, and he'd pluck twigs and leaves and flowers from the trees," Thorin murmurs.

Talaitha grins. "Tell us more, Dís."

"Let's see," she says, thinking. "Oh! What about when Fíli was a baby and he knocked over his bowl of mashed sweet potatoes and-"

"Another time," Thorin cuts in. "We have...business in Dale." Then, before anyone can question his excuse, he takes Talaitha's hand and pulls her from the kitchens.

He leads Talaitha through the corridors and pushes her into a hidden alcove.

"This isn't Dale," she remarks, with an arched brow.

"Don't play coy," he retorts, and her response is muffled by his lips on hers.

The kiss is neither soft nor sweet, but hard and fueled by Thorin's sexual frustration. Talaitha returns the kiss with equal passion, parting her lips to allow his tongue access, but when his hands begin to roam over her body, she pulls away.

"The tradition."

Her lips are red and slightly swollen, and Thorin can't look away.

"Hang it," he growls and kisses her again.

This time, she lets his hands feel her body and cup her breasts through her dress. But when his lips trail down her neck, she pulls sharply on his braid.

"It is not my tradition, but yours," she reminds him. By now her breathing has changed, and he can feel her heart beat just a little bit faster.

"I am king. I can change this custom." He tries to kiss her a third time, but she presses a finger to his lips. He licks it and sucks it into his mouth.

"Thorin!" she snaps, but there's a hint of a moan in her admonishment.

"Yes, my _û_ _rzud_?" He is smirking now, for he sees his desire reflected in her eyes.

"You said a month of abstinence would be nothing."

"I was wrong," he says, pulling her lower half against his. "So very, _very_ wrong."

Talaitha's fingers grip his upper arms, as his erection prods her hip. "You need to go." She moves just enough to bring their pelvises in line, producing a delicious drag against the head of his clothed cock. "Go spar with Dwalin..." Her breath hitches when he grinds against her. "Or write a treaty..."

"Mmm," he rumbles, nosing below her ear. "A treaty granting me the right to explore much-coveted territory." He kisses her neck, nips her skin and soothes it with his tongue. "To claim the slopes and mounds and valleys as my own." Hands trail over her curves, fingers kneading into the soft flesh of her buttocks. "To _mount_ an expedition the likes of which has never been seen."

"Thorin..." And this time, his name _is_ a moan.

He groans and is about to push her dress off her shoulders, when Talaitha regains her senses and slaps his arm away.

"We are adults," she says firmly. "Not lust-driven adolescents." But the throbbing in her nether regions suggests otherwise. "We will keep our desire in check until the wedding night."

Thorin scowls but heeds Talaitha's words.

"A husband who cannot touch his wife," he grumbles.

His scowl only deepens when Talaitha giggles.

 


	7. The Sennight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili and Kili learn to dance, while Thorin and Talaitha radiate sexual tension.

In preparation for the wedding, Fíli and Kíli must learn how to dance. They are Erebor's crown princes, after all, and are expected to join the king and queen in a dance with their respective partners. When the brothers are informed of this, they attempt to escape to Dale and Lake Town and even to Mirkwood, but Thorin or Dwalin always manages to find them and drag them back.

That's why the brothers find themselves in one of Erebor's grand halls, moving rather uncertainly to a fiddler's melody.

"Ouch, Fíli, that was my foot," Nifha complains. Sweet, patient Nifha, who looks decidedly _im_ patient now.

"Sorry," he murmurs, staring down at his feet.

"Mind the column," Thorin warns, and Fíli nearly leads Nifha into it. "Look up, lad!"

Fíli does and steps on Nifha's foot again. "Sorry."

Kíli, who is faring far better than his brother, laughs. "Nifha, if you value your toes, you'll find another dwarf to court."

"Kiss an orc," the blond prince growls and swings Nifha around to glare at his brother. "The only reason you're better at this is because you have an elf's form."

"Say what you will, Fee, but Mother will be able to walk tonight."

"That's enough, Kíli," Dís scolds, squeezing his shoulder. "Fíli, let Nifha sit a while. I'll dance with you."

The dwarf maiden sighs in relief and moves to a chair along the periphery of the room. "Thank you, but are you sure that is wise?"

"You, too?" Fíli grumbles, as his mother takes his shoulder. They begin to dance, and Dís, who is more experienced than Nifha, helps guide his movements.

"I didn't mean it like that..." Nifha says, blushing.

"And who am I to dance with?" Kíli asks. He glances at Thorin, who arches a brow.

"With me."

Talaitha enters the room, her breeches and tunic a stark contrast to Dís' and Nifha's flowing skirts. She smiles at Thorin, and he swears that her eyes sparkle with mischief, before she turns her attention to his nephew.

"It would be my pleasure, my lady," Kíli says, with a bow.

Talaitha plays along and dips into a curtsey, then takes the prince's proffered hand. As he leads her around the room, his motions are fluid and confident. He falters a little when he twirls her, his hand twisting awkwardly, but recovers quickly.

"You have a natural talent," she observes.

Kíli grins. "Hear that, Fee?"

The prince ignores the bait and concentrates on maintaining the three-beat rhythm. With Dís' help, he manages.

"It's not nice to gloat," Talaitha says, smirking at Thorin.

The king looks up, startled at the sound of her voice. He had been watching the graceful lines of Talaitha's body turn, bend, extend, and flex. Her tight breeches offer a particularly enticing view of her shapely legs, and he realizes that he hadn't imagined the mischief in her eyes.

"Take a break, Kíli," he says, offering his hand to Talaitha.

She accepts and looks up at him, challenging him. Their month-long vow of chastity had long ago become a competition, and today, less than a week before the wedding, there would be a reckoning.

Talaitha allows Thorin to lead her in a simple, four-beat dance.

"You started without me."

Thorin tightens his hand around her waist, as his thumb strokes along her palm. "If we'd have waited too long, Fíli and Kíli might have disappeared again."

"I had to take Szélvész out." Her hand inches upwards on his shoulder to tug lightly on a lock of his hair.

"I know." He slowly pulls her closer. "But you're here now."

"I am." The hand on his shoulder briefly brushes his neck. "Fíli is struggling?"

"Aye, he was." Thorin's palm is warm on the small of her back. "But he's improving."

Talaitha tilts her head up, her breath fluttering against his lips. "And he's also glaring at Kíli."

"What do you expect?" Thorin leans towards her. "Kíli is dancing far better with Nifha than he was."

Her body brushes against his, sending a jolt of arousal through them both.

"Dís looks happy."

"She does." Thorin glances at his sister, who is laughing at something Fíli said. "She deserves it, for all I've put her through."

Talaitha's hand leaves his shoulder to cup his cheek. "Yes, but you brought her home and returned her sons to her."

"I brought her to Erebor, but _you_ returned her sons to her." Thorin closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Talaitha's, their movements slowing without their noticing. " _I_ nearly took them away."

"But you didn't." She is still cupping his cheek, and her thumb grazes his bottom lip. He kisses it.

Unbeknownst to either of them, their actions have attracted an audience. Kíli is about to say something, but Nifha stands on his foot, quieting him.

"Talaitha," Thorin breathes. "I-" She's so soft and warm in his arms that he cannot think properly. But she knows what he couldn't say.

"Me, too," she agrees. Heat flares through her, from her fingers to her toes, and centers in her belly.

"Can we call off the game now?" he asks, almost pleads.

Talaitha kisses his nose, and he's sure she will consent. But then her pelvis touches his for the briefest second, teasing his half-hard member, and he knows the answer even before she gives it.

"Definitely not." She grins when he grimaces. "I'm enjoying being right far too much."

Thorin finally remembers that they are not alone in the room and puts some distance between Talaitha and himself. He leads her in a fast, four-beat dance that limits close bodily contact, just in case. Kíli looks away, his interest gone now that the tension between his uncle and his bride is somewhat dissipated.

"Is this so easy for you, then?"

"No," Talaitha replies, with a slightly pained expression. "But as you said three weeks ago, it is tradition." Thorin twirls her, and she wishes she had changed into a dress before coming here. "Besides, think of all these sensations building up. The release will be well worth the wait."

Thorin smirks. He _had_ thought of that. "The moment we are husband and wife...again..., I shall have you." He spins her out before pulling her close and murmuring, "In every way imaginable."

A shiver runs down Talaitha's spine, and her core throbs.

"By the Valar," she whispers. "These next few days had better pass swiftly."

 

 


	8. Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dwarvish wedding and wedding night. Rated M.
> 
> For pictures of Talaitha's dwarvish wedding outfit, check out "Thorin/Talaitha One-Shots Images."

Thorin sits in a chair by the fire, clad only in his smallclothes, watching Talaitha sleep. He aches, and if he does, then so must she. He is exhausted and limp and thoroughly sated, but sleep eludes him. So he thinks instead. Thinks about where life has led him, where it will continue to lead him. Thinks about his naked wife, who is now also his queen. Thinks about their future children, his heirs, that they will displace Fíli and Kíli on the throne. But he doubts his nephews will protest, especially not Kíli.

And, as Talaitha shifts, the sheet slipping down to expose one, pale breast, he thinks about last night.

_"Thorin," Talaitha whispers, while the king's hand creeps slowly up her thigh._

_He ignores her and continues his conversation with Dwalin, his hand not halting its trek up her leg. She turns her body away from him, but his hand lightly squeezes her thigh, and she nearly yelps in surprise. Bilbo is still talking to her, apparently oblivious to the events under the table. Though Talaitha tries to listen, she is becoming increasingly distracted. Thorin's fingers have now reached her sex, grazing it but not applying pressure to it. But even that barest touch is enough to send pleasure shooting through her._

_Well, two could play_ that _game._

_Thorin tenses imperceptibly when her own hand rests on his thigh, content to remain there for the moment. She takes another sip of wine, engaging dutifully with Bilbo's story about Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, and begins to stroke his thigh. She feels the muscles flex and sees the discreet upturn of his lips. He does not move away._

_But_ she _jerks when two of his fingers find her clit through the gown._

_"Are you well, Talaitha?" Bilbo asks, frowning._

_"Just a hiccup," she lies. "Too much food, I think." By now, her palm is flat against Thorin's groin, its presence causing his cock to grow and harden quickly. Almost embarrassingly quickly. She hears his breathing change for an instant and smiles. "Do continue about your relatives, Bilbo. You were about to tell me what Lobelia's son did in your absence."_

_While the hobbit regales her of how Lotho tried to sell his books, Talaitha slowly strokes Thorin through his fine, leather breeches. And, as with their month of abstinence, Thorin falters first. His hand ceases its motions on her core. She squeezes him in triumph, and he chokes on his wine._

Thorin smirks as he remembers how he dragged her away after that, bidding their guests a hasty farewell. Mercifully, his tunic covered his clearly--and painfully--erect cock, but Talaitha walked in front of him until they exited the banquet hall, just in case. They ran through the corridors and up the stairs, Talaitha clutching Thorin's hand and the bottom of her dress. They had made it to their chambers but not to their bed.

_"Is the dwarvish wedding night always so feverish?" gasps Talaitha, as Thorin thrusts into her, pushing her roughly against the wall. Her gown is hiked up, bunching around her hips, and her legs are wrapped around his waist._

_"Don't...know," he grunts and tightens his grip on her buttocks. The force and pace are just on the edge of punishing, and Talaitha can do little else but hold onto him as he moves almost painfully deeply inside her._

_Her body and head swim with sensations and overwhelming pleasure. The angle is such that each powerful thrust hits her bundle of nerves, and she reaches a hand to her clit, rubbing it in time with Thorin's rhythm. Their coupling is savage and messy, and they share moans and pants and groans between wet, open-mouthed kisses. All the tension that had accumulated over the past month becomes unbearable. Her tight heat clamps down on him, his stones draw up towards his body, and he's only half-aware of her fingers on her core, brushing his cock with each stroke._

_Neither lasts long, and as their orgasms hit them near-simultaneously, Talaitha cries out loudly and Thorin spills his seed inside her with a primal roar._

Thorin feels himself stir at the memory and looks down. His exhausted body is apparently not as limp and sated as he had thought.

_"You tore my gown, you brute," Talaitha scolds affectionately. She points to the rip on the neckline and tries to smooth down the abused lace._

_"It has served its purpose," says Thorin, slowly untying the laces at the back. Despite his flippancy towards the garment, he removes it from Talaitha's body carefully and lays it over the back of a chair. He takes off her sapphire necklace and tiara, kissing along her collarbones as he does so. Bared to his smoldering gaze, she shivers._

_"Mahal, you are beautiful," he breathes, tracing the warm light the flickering flames cast upon her skin. "My wife. My queen." He picks her up and carries her to their bed, setting her down gently with a kiss. "I shall worship you tonight."_

_He showers her with love, as he explores every inch of her body with his hands, lips, and tongue. He kisses a trail down her chest, over her hipbones, along the inside of her thighs. He swirls his tongue around her nipples, dips it into her navel, and sucks lightly where pelvis meets thigh. He turns her over, kisses her back and down her spine. He strokes up her thighs to her buttocks, kneading the soft flesh and placing gentle kisses on the bruises already forming from their frantic coupling. A finger brushes along her vagina, still slick and sticky from their combined releases._

_Once Thorin has teased her long enough with soft touches, she lies on her back, her copper hair fanning out around her on the pillow. The new bead in her hair draws his attention._

_"It was a challenge to carve your family's symbol into it," he says, feeling the intricate etchings beneath his fingers._

_Talaitha reaches up and catches the swinging bead in his own hair. It is identical to hers, bearing both his and her families' runes. Made of mithril gifted to Thorin and Talaitha by Thranduil, the ornaments are marriage beads, intended to be worn until death parts them and after. Because dwarves are generally more protective of their spouses than are the szelemér, the beads are a visible marital status, warning away potential courtiers. Against her better judgment, Talaitha likes the bead; it's pretty, if one does not think too hard about the covetous meaning that underlies it. But it also symbolizes their union, the melding of not only two different families but of two different races, as well. And that meaning is by far the more beautiful._

_"I don't think it's ever been on so small an object," she replies. "I wish I could have given you something, too. I fear I am in debt now."_

_Thorin smiles and strokes her cheek. "You have given me the greatest gift of all," he says, touching the silver Bead of Life woven intricately into her hair. "My life and my nephews' lives."_

_Tears sting her eyes when she remembers how close she had come to losing him, and before he can question her, she pulls his head down and kisses him. He feels a wet drop on his nose, as a tear slides down her cheek, and gathers her in his arms, pulling her as close as their positions will allow. Her breasts are crushed to his chest, her arms wrapped around his neck, his face buried in her hair._

_And that's how he enters her, gently and slowly. Her thighs part for him, allowing him to slide in deeper, and when all of his length is safely sheathed inside her, he stills. In the frenzy of their "first time," he hadn't given her a chance to adjust to his length and girth before he pounded into her. This time, he would make love to her._

_Thorin pulls away slightly to kiss down her neck and to caress her breasts. He suckles a nipple, watching in fascination as it pebbles when he lightly blows on it. He gives the other one the same attention, enjoying the way Talaitha arches up into him. The movement is felt by his erection, which twitches in anticipation._

_Gathering her into his arms again, he finally, slowly, begins to move. They are joined, skin against skin, pelvis against pelvis, as close as two people can be. They kiss, deeply and hotly, their tongues sliding together, mimicking Thorin's rhythm. His thrusts are long and unhurried. It's more important to feel one another completely than to reach climax. They hold each other's gazes, and one of Thorin's hands takes hers, pulling it up towards the headboard to intertwine their fingers._

_They have unlocked a part of themselves and of each other that no one else has seen or felt. A warmth suffuses them both, a rush of energy, and if Thorin thinks it is their souls melding, he wouldn't be far from the truth._

_A familiar heat pools in their bellies, and soon after, their releases wash over them with blinding intensity, yet neither makes more noise than a hitched gasp. They watch the pleasure flash across the other's face and hold each other through the waves. When it's over, Thorin allows Talaitha to pull him down onto her, shielding her from his weight with one bent elbow. He nuzzles into her neck, lazily kissing it, as he waits for his heartbeat to return to normal._

"Thorin?"

The soft, sleep-tinged voice draws him from his ruminations. Talaitha is sitting up, the sheets pooling at her waist, looking at him with furrowed brows. Her hair is messy, the braids long undone, and the marriage bead swings above her breast.

He smiles at the sight.

"Come here," he says quietly, holding out his arms.

She settles into his lap, her bare thighs on either side of his. By the fire, it is warm, and she leans into his chest with a contented sigh.

"I love you," Thorin murmurs, holding her close.

Talaitha snuggles against him and kisses the slope of his neck.

"And I love you."


	9. Possession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is jealous. 
> 
> **Warning:** This chapter contains rough sex, but it is entirely consensual. Rated E.

She's meeting with _him_ again. Etele. The only other szelemér in the region.

Thorin tries not to begrudge Talaitha the company of her kin, but their embrace that morning had been far too familiar for his liking. It had been close and long, and Etele had touched her fiery, red locks.

Those curls are _Thorin's_ to touch alone.

He paces the balcony overlooking Dale, receiving curious glances from the guards posted along it. He ignores them, just as he ignores Dís when she chides him for his behavior. Etele is merely a friend, she reasons, a fellow szelemér far from home.

But Thorin is not reassured.

So he paces, because apparently that's what he does when he is troubled, and remembers. Talaitha had been skittish about their future in Erebor, especially about becoming queen. He worries Etele's arrival will exacerbate her bouts of homesickness and her doubts about queenship. She conceals the latter from others, but he knows her well enough by now to see through her composed front. He notices the little things she does, like immediately removing her crown after official events and insisting the royal honorifics be dropped. While others might attribute the first to practicality and the second to humility, Thorin understands them for what they are.

Discomfort.

Along with the fears comes jealousy, which flares when he watches Talaitha and Etele exchange cheek-kisses. He doesn't think as he storms from the balcony. He doesn't think as he wrenches open the massive door. And he _really_ doesn't think as he pulls Talaitha inside, leaving a perplexed Etele in their wake.

She struggles against his hold, but he doesn't stop walking until they are deep in the belly of Erebor. He pins her against the wall, not hard enough to injure but hard enough to shock. She exclaims when he rips the neckline of her blouse, but her words are lost on him, his mind focused on one thing. _Mark_.

Thorin sucks a harsh bruise into her skin, just above her left breast, while one hand fondles her right breast and the other hand trails up her thigh beneath her skirt. He finds her core, and she gasps, the stimulation too fast and too hard. But he doesn't relent. A finger stretches her, then two, and soon she is in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist, skirt bunched at her hips.

A squeeze of her buttocks is the only warning she receives before he pushes into her, his cockhead stretching her far more than his fingers had. Her cry of pleasure and pain spurs him on, and he thrusts into her mercilessly, her blouse coming untucked from her skirt as her back slides against the wall.

With one hand supporting her, his other hand delves beneath her skirt again to rub her clit, his fingers maintaining their rhythm even when his hips lose theirs. She comes first, her body bowing forward with a moan, her muscles spasming around him to hasten his own release. His thrusts are short, almost uncontrolled, his hot breath rushing over her neck, his grunts ringing in her ears. She clenches, and he's burying himself deep and shouting hoarsely. There are teeth on her flesh, a sharp pain, a soothing tongue.

When it's over, Thorin sets her down carefully, tucks himself back into his breeches, reties the laces, and walks away. Talaitha is left standing there, her blouse torn and her dignity wounded. Yet instead of stinging with tears, her eyes blaze with anger.

She finds him in their chambers, clad in a clean pair of breeches.

"I am not some livestock to be branded," she hisses, pulling aside the neckline of her blouse to reveal the purple-black bruises. "Look at what you have done to me."

"I see it," Thorin says, eyeing his work with a smug smile.

Rage fills Talaitha, and before he can move away, she slaps him, the sound echoing in the cavernous room. He remembers the kisses she had placed on Etele's cheek and is struck by the irony.

"If you _ever_ mark me like this again, you will regret it." Her eyes flash dangerously, as holds her wrists to prevent another slap. "I am not treasure to be possessed."

"But aren't you?" he asks derisively. "You married a dwarf, after all. It's in our nature to protect what is ours."

She wrenches her arms free, glaring at him. "If I didn't know better, I'd say the gold sickness had returned."

"You are _mine_ ," Thorin growls, his lips inches from hers. He touches her marriage bead, thumbing over the etched design. "You lost your freedom to flirt with other males when you became my wife."

Talaitha reels back and winces when the sudden movement causes him to pull on her hair. "Is that what this is about?" He doesn't reply, but the hard glint in his eyes is confirmation enough. "He's a former lover, Thorin, and you are my husband. Though at this moment, I am skeptical about the benefit of that."

"Then how fortunate Etele has come," says the dwarf, smiling bitterly. "Since you deem our union to be detrimental, perhaps he can whisk you back to Nemere."

"Take care what you suggest," Talaitha warns.

Thorin grasps her hips and pulls her to him. "I should forbid you to see him."

"And how would you do that?" she asks, brow arched. "Would you lock me away in the bowels of the mountain? Would you bind me? Chain me? _Mark_ me?"

"Do not tempt me," he murmurs, his voice deep and tinged with renewed lust.

Talaitha looks up at him with such disgust that Thorin drops his hands from her hips.

"You are not the dwarf I married."

And before he can stop her, she's out the door, leaving a chill and a silence in her wake.


	10. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talaitha has a secret.

Talaitha is gone the next day, having taken her clothes and weapons while Thorin was training with Dwalin. The guards posted along the balcony witness her departure but think little of it, for the queen often travels away from Erebor. If they find the pack tied to Szélvész's back unusual, they dismiss it in the belief that the king must surely be aware of his wife's comings and goings.

Indeed, Thorin is. And he does not need to ask in which direction she has ridden. There is only one path she would take.

To Dís', but not to Dwalin's, surprise, he does not follow. Let Talaitha take counsel with whomever she will. Let her leave him. If it is freedom she desires, he would give it to her. His sister calls him a fool, and Dwalin's raised brow suggests he agrees, but Thorin is stubborn. He will not chase after a woman who does not wish to be with him.

Yet as the days pass, his obdurate nature yields to emptiness and regret.

 _You are not the dwarf I married._ The look of disgust on her face as she had said that haunts him. It consumes his waking thoughts and transforms his dreams into nightmarish visions of madness and violence. He wonders if Talaitha was right, if the gold sickness _has_ returned. But when he stares at the mounds of gold in the treasury, he is not stirred.

Another kind of sickness, then. For he realizes he had to have been deranged to act as he did. He cringes when he remembers how roughly he'd taken her, as if she had been a common whore instead of his queen. _I am not some livestock to be branded._ He is nauseated when, even now, he sees the bruises he had marked her with.

Dís and Dwalin are wrong. He's worse than a fool. He's as vile as the brutish men who rape their women.

Thorin's stomach heaves, and he vomits into a bowl of dried petals on a nearby table.

#

A week later, he is galloping towards Mirkwood and forging into the dark forest more zealously than is befitting a dwarf. The elf guards who Thranduil has stationed along the path to his realm are conspicuously absent, though Thorin knows they are watching. The thought unnerves him, but he rides on. Soon, he reaches the borders of the underground city and is confronted by the prince.

"I confess that I am surprised by your presence here, Dwarf King," says Legolas, motioning for one of the elves to take Thorin's pony. "Do you have business with my father?"

"You know why I'm here," Thorin replies impatiently. He glances warily at the guards, but they appear disinterested in the interaction. "I need to see her."

The prince's blue eyes are cold. "She does not wish to see _you_. Go back to Erebor, King. "

Legolas turns to enter the cave but pauses when a small figure emerges for an instant, before ducking inside.

"Why do you wish to see her?"

Thorin looks up, hopeful. "To speak with her, of course," he answers. The slight tremor in his voice is not lost on the elf. "To see her and speak with her."

Legolas glances at the entrance again, then says with his back to the dwarf, "Come."

Thorin follows the prince through the tunnels and up winding stairs until he's almost dizzy from them. Grudgingly, he marvels at the craftsmanship and wonders how the elves have managed to make a cave feel like a forest. He prefers a cave to feel like a cave, of course, but he supposes this is the only way that elves can live underground.

They stop in front of a door, and Legolas regards Thorin with a stony expression.

"Through there." The elf places a hand on his shoulder. "The walls have ears."

Thorin arches a brow. "Really?"

"These do."

A threat. But the dwarf cannot bring himself to resent the prince for it. Thorin waits until Legolas has disappeared, for the elf does not need to be near to hear, and opens the door, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

Talaitha stares at him, her face expressionless. He hesitates, his fear nearly overwhelming him. She has not yet returned to Nemere, but that could be for many reasons that have nothing to do with him or their marriage.

"Talaitha," he says. And it sounds desperate even to his ears.

"Thorin," she responds coolly. He notices her arms are wrapped around her middle. Does she think he will take her against the wall again?

"You are radiant." And so she is.

"You've looked better," she retorts. He doesn't deny it. With his hair in tangles and the bruises beneath his eyes, he is sure he presents a pathetic image.

"I cannot sleep," he confesses, taking a cautious step towards her. When she doesn't retreat, he takes another and another, until he is only an arm's length away from her. "I cannot sleep."

"Apparently you also cannot eat," she observes, her gaze roving over his thinner frame.

Thorin reaches out to her but flinches at the cold glint in her eyes. He is starved for her touch and scent more than he is starved for food or sleep.

"I cannot do many things without you."

For an instant, Talaitha looks pained, but then the indifferent mask reappears.

"What's done is done, Thorin. Now we both have to live with the consequences."

Her arms tighten around her middle, before she sits and gestures to the chair across from hers. He takes it, feeling too small on the furniture.

"And what are they?" he asks. "You return to Nemere and I to Erebor, and we never see each other again?"

"What do you expect, Thorin?" She sounds exasperated and weary. "Did you expect me to run into your arms?"

"Of course not," he snaps. "I do not know what I expected."

"What a surprise. Thorin Oakenshield came without a plan."

Her sarcastic tone irritates him, because he knows she alludes to his failure against Smaug.

"Well, since you don't know what to say, I'll speak." Talaitha crosses her legs on the chair and begins. "You are jealous of Etele, yes?" She takes his scowl as answer. "You have no reason to be. We were lovers a long time ago, but we were not _in_ love. Dwarves touch foreheads to show affection, the szelemér cheek-kiss."

"And you say you were not in love with Etele," Thorin mutters.

"Are you in love with Dwalin?" The dwarf looks down, chastised. "It is how friends greet each other among my people. You saw me do so with many szelemér in Nemere."

"They were not-"

"Male. I know." A shadow of a wry smile ghosts across her lips. "I do not condemn your jealousy. I can deal with that. But when you marked me," she says gravely. " _That_ I couldn't abide."

"I know."

"Possession is against my very _being_ , Thorin." And she is so emphatic that he nearly flinches. "The szelemér value freedom and equality above all else. I am not your inferior. I am not to be owned."

"I know," he says desperately. If his grandfather could see him now, he would be ashamed. But perversely, Thorin feels he has more dignity at this moment than he did the last time he saw Talaitha.

"Tell me why, then."

"I feared losing you." He falls to his knees and looks up at her. "I feared you would regret marrying me and that you would go back to Nemere."

"Then you don't know me very well," she says softly. "It is true I had misgivings but never about _you_."

Thorin bows his head, staring at the floral design on the carpet.

"Until now."

Talaitha is silent for so long, watching him, that he believes he has truly lost her. But then he hears the rustle of her dress and feels her fingers lift his chin.

"Not even now."

He is wide-eyed when he meets her gaze, his breath hitching in his throat.

"Don't look so shocked, Thorin," she laughs. "I married you twice. That has to count for something."

He finally regains his composure and stands, looking down at her with a hopeful expression.

"Can you forgive me?"

"Yes," she replies, somber again. "But I cannot and will not forget. I love you, and I want to face troubles together, but I _will_ _not_ tolerate such possessive behavior."

"I swear on my life, on Erebor, that you will never have to again." And he means it, even if he has to punch a wall to relieve his tension.

"Good, because I have a secret to tell you." She is smiling as she beckons him closer. "I am with child."

Thorin straightens so quickly that he feels dizzy for an instant. "You're..." he tries, stuttering helplessly. "You're with...child? With _my_ child?"

"Yes," she says calmly. Far too calmly. But then, he supposes, she has had longer to absorb the information.

"Mahal," he breathes and grins at Talaitha. "I'm going to be a father."

He pulls her into his arms, embracing her as tightly as he dares, and spins her around. Their laughter melds like a song, her giggles harmonizing with his deeper chuckles. Nothing, not even seeing Erebor glisten again, could compare to his happiness at this moment. He sends a silent thank you to Aulë and Yavanna for granting him a second chance with Talaitha. And by the Valar, he would not foul it up.

Outside the room, a blond elf descends the stairs, a satisfied smile on his fair face.


	11. Bump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talaitha is pregnant. Now what?

Talaitha is beginning to show. The dwarves are beginning to talk. They're curious, and with good reason. Never before has there been a child of dwarven and szelemér parentage. Would the child grow a beard, like the dwarves? Or would the child be smooth-faced, like the fairies? The dwarves of Erebor have no idea what male szelemér look like, but the image most have in their minds resembles a smaller elf, possibly Thorin's height but definitely not of his build. They transfer that image onto Talaitha's unborn child, sure that if it is a boy, he will look like an elfin Thorin, and that if it is a girl, she will look like a dwarvish Talaitha.

When Dís overhears these theories in the market, she smiles to herself. Better the dwarves indulge in good-natured gossip than the criticism Talaitha had feared. Some dwarves opposed Thorin's union with Talaitha, but they were few to begin with and fewer still after Dáin had been stripped of his titles. Most had initially viewed Talaitha with cautious interest, but when they learned that she had rescued their king from death, it suddenly did not matter if she was not of their race.

"Are dwarf babies born with beards?" Talaitha asks Dís, while they're baking bread.

"Kíli certainly wasn't," Dís replies, with a laugh. "No, our babes are born smooth-cheeked and begin to grow facial hair at around fifteen years old. Boys usually start earlier than girls, and some boys start later than others."

"I don't know anything," Talaitha confesses. Dís notices that she is kneading the dough more vigorously than necessary. "Szelemér pregnancies last nearly a year, and dwarf pregnancies, nine months. But _this_ ," she gestures to her slightly distended stomach. "This is uncharted territory."

"You are a soul healer. Use what you know," Dís says. At Talaitha's blank look, she continues, "The child is within you. Do you feel it?"

"I feel its effects," the fairy says dryly.

"When I was pregnant with the boys, after the third month, I could feel them. I felt them grow. I felt their hiccups. I felt their kicks. I knew when they didn't like certain foods I ate. And I _really_ knew when they didn't like certain people I interacted with."

Talaitha raises her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Oh yes," the she-dwarf nods. "Kíli absolutely _hated_ one of the merchants in Ered Luin. Every time I would buy from him, he would throw a tantrum inside my belly. The nausea had passed after about three months, except when the merchant was nearby."

"That certainly sounds like Kíli," Talaitha laughs. But she sobers quickly. "I can feel life within me, but it's...vague."

"Touch it," Dís suggests softly. "The same way you touched Thorin and my sons. Then you will know it."

"I think it's still too early for that, if this pregnancy is even remotely similar to the ones I've witnessed."

Talaitha finishes shaping the abused dough into a loaf and slides it into the kiln. Dís places her own loaf beside the fairy's and wipes her flour-dusted hands on her apron.

"Then when it is time, use your ability." The she-dwarf takes Talaitha's hands and squeezes them reassuringly. "You are a healer. All will be well."

Talaitha smiles at the older woman, grateful for the support. She longs for her mother, for her advice and safe embraces, but Dís is nearly as comforting.

Later, after Talaitha has vomited up her dinner, Thorin is rubbing her back as she lies snuggled into his side. He is meant to be reading trade proposals from Rohan, but he can feel her warm breath against his thigh even through his breeches.

"How many times today?" he asks, looking down at his wife.

"Four," she mumbles. "I don't know why I bother eating. It just comes back up an hour later."

"My poor love." But he's smiling, and she knows it.

"This is your fault, you know." She rolls onto her back to glare up at him. His smile widens. "Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Smiling."

He frowns. "Better?"

"Yes," she says, hiding her face against his thigh again. Her voice is slightly muffled as she asks, "Girl or boy?"

"Either." He tries not to smile. "You?"

"Same," she sighs, and he enjoys the warmth of it. "As long as the baby is healthy."

"Mmm." Thorin returns his attention to the proposal, keeping one hand on Talaitha's back, but he is distracted by the tenseness in her muscles. Setting the paper aside, he leans over to massage her shoulders. "Tell me."

Talaitha doesn't ask for clarification.

"I'm afraid."

His thumb grazes her nape, and she shivers.

"So am I."

She touches his thigh and begins to trace patterns on it with her finger. "Afraid of the pregnancy or of fatherhood?"

He is silent, considering, as her muscles slowly relax beneath his gentle hands. She waits patiently, feeling less and less anxious the longer he rubs her back.

"Of both," he finally answers. "I do not know what pregnancy is like for szelemér women, but it is difficult for dwarf women. But even that would be better, for then I would know what to expect. How does a child of both races develop?"

"I don't know," Talaitha admits. "And that's why I'm afraid. What if...what if something goes wrong? What if dwarves and szelemér aren't meant to reproduce with each other?"

Thorin feels her tense again, and he bends down to kiss her hair. "Of all the women in Middle-earth, you are probably the best-equipped for this pregnancy. You're a soul healer. If you can touch me, you can certainly touch the life growing within you."

Talaitha turns onto her back, smiling as her nose brushes Thorin's. "Dís said the same thing this morning."

"Well, we _are_ brother and sister," he says and kisses her lips. "But if you are concerned, why not write to the dark-haired elf?"

"Lord Elrond," Talaitha corrects, with an exasperated sigh. "Honestly, his name is not that difficult to remember."

Thorin smirks, and she realizes he's teasing her.

"I already have," she says. Thorin looks surprised. "I didn't tell you because I didn't think you would approve."

"If I can tolerate the Elf King and his son, I can tolerate Elrond," Thorin says wryly. "Especially if it will ease your worries."

"And yours," Talaitha adds.

"Aye, and mine." He kisses her again, and this time she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him atop her.

When he relinquishes her mouth, she grins up at him mischievously. "I hear sex is very effective at keeping nausea at bay."

"Is that so?" He raises his eyebrows. "I would think that would exacerbate it."

"No," she shakes her head. "I would know, being a healer and all."

"Well, then," he rumbles, kissing her neck. "I defer to your expert knowledge."


	12. Found and Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joy and grief.

_Heartache's knocking on her door, and shadows dance outside her window. Tears keep falling on the floor, as the world around her crumbles. If you want to save her, then first you have to save yourself. If you want to free her from the hurt, don't do it with your pain. If you want to see her smile again, don't show her you're afraid, 'cause your circle of fear is the same._

"Circle of Fear" HIM

 

Thorin is in the conference hall with Balin and Fíli when Talaitha returns from Dale. He sets aside the parchment and smiles as she enters, followed by Kíli and Nifha. He is about to go to his wife, but the chorus of high-pitched _mews_ gives him pause.

"What are those?"

"Have you never seen kittens before?" Talaitha kisses him, unperturbed by his wary glance at the three kittens.

"Yes. But what are they doing _here_?"

Kíli bends down and scoops the tabby kitten into his arms. "They followed us," he says, grinning at his uncle. "This one's a little trouble-maker."

The tabby kitten squirms in Kíli's hold, trying to climb up his arm. Thorin thinks he rather suits his nephew.

"Erebor is no place for kittens," he grouses, then looks down when he feels a light weight on his boot. The black kitten stares up at him with bright, green eyes and meows loudly, almost reproachfully.

"I think he disagrees, Uncle," Fíli laughs. Nifha hands him the third kitten, a little orange thing with blue eyes who immediately curls up in his arms and goes to sleep.

Ever the voice of reason, Balin says, "Kittens grow into cats, and cats catch mice."

Thorin arches a brow at him, then sighs. "I see I am outnumbered," he relents, giving Balin and his nephews a measured glance. "But if they become a nuisance, they go.

"Thank you!" Talaitha kisses his cheek and picks up the black kitten. "Come on, Mimaskad, let's explore your new home."

"Little shadow," murmurs Balin. "A good name."

"He _is_ a shadow," Kíli nods. His kitten has given up trying to climb up his arm and is now licking his palm. "He's Laitha's shadow. We were in the market when we heard this little _meow_ coming from the alley. Out popped the black one, who immediately went to Laitha and wouldn't stop following her. And then two more came." Kíli pauses to move his finger away from the tabby kitten's teeth. " _These_ two came. I think they're orphans."

"They certainly _look_ like orphans," Nifha agrees. "They're so tiny and thin."

"Aye, and no doubt Talaitha felt compelled by maternal instinct to take care of them."

Thorin's exasperated tone is softened by the fond smile on his lips.

"We all wanted them," Kíli says. "Besides, Laitha's always been like that. Remember how much the kids in Lake Town liked her stories?"

Thorin smirks. "Of course I remember. I could never get a moment alone with her when I went to the healing ward."

"Do you know what the baby will be yet?" Nifha asks.

"Óin doesn't," Thorin replies wryly. "But Talaitha is certain it's a boy."

Balin, beaming, claps a hand on Thorin's shoulder. "Congratulations, laddie."

"Balin, I'm going to a be a father soon. You cannot keep calling me 'laddie.'" But Thorin is pleased nonetheless.

"I'm glad it's a boy," Kíli says, looking thoughtful. "Not that a girl wouldn't be...interesting..., but I wouldn't know what to do with one."

"Kíli, you will _not_ teach my son the pranks you and Fíli played as dwarflings," Thorin warns. "I've heard enough complaints about frogs in boots to last me a lifetime."

Fíli laughs as his brother scowls. "You're no fun, Uncle."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, my lad," says Balin, with a twinkle in his eyes. "I seem to remember a young prince who got up to some mischief with his friend."

"Really?" Kíli asks, grinning. "What did he do?"

"Nothing." Thorin glares at Balin. "He is mistaking me for Frerin."

But the old dwarf is not deterred. "We'd better sit down. Your uncle and Dwalin were almost as naughty as the two of you."

Thorin rolls his eyes at his nephews' excitement. Nifha gives him a sympathetic smile, but even she looks eager to hear the stories.

"Well, it all began when Thorin turned six and got his first tutor..."

#

It feels like he has just fallen asleep, when a soft whisper wakes him.

"Thorin."

He opens his eyes and at first doesn't know where to look in the orange candlelight. Then he sees Talaitha standing at the foot of their bed, her hands flat on her stomach. Even in the warm glow, she is pale. He sits up, peering at her through sleep-clouded eyes.

"What is-"

But before he can finish his question, he sees a shock of bright red against her light pink nightdress. Blood. _Her_ blood. When he finally tears his gaze away from it, she is staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. He knows he must go to her, but he is paralyzed by fear. This wasn't meant to happen. Talaitha did everything correctly, took all the necessary precautions. He had kept a careful watch on her, made sure she ate and slept well. He refuses to believe what his eyes and gut are telling him.

"Thorin."

It's her voice, quiet and breathless, that finally snaps him from his stupor. He leaps out of bed, just in time to catch her as she faints. He races to Óin's room, his footsteps echoing loudly in the halls, accompanied by his shouts for the healer. Dwarves poke their heads out their doors, curious, concerned, and somewhat disgruntled at the ruckus. But Thorin is heedless of them. He doesn't care if he wakes all of Middle-earth, as long as Óin wakes.

Fortunately for Thorin, Óin _does_ hear his approach and is ready, though he is as yet unaware of the emergency. Because it must be an emergency for the king to sound so frantic. Seconds later, Thorin is bursting through the door, a limp Talaitha in his arms. The healer sees her blood-soaked nightdress and understands.

"Take her to the healing ward," says Óin, pulling on his boots. "We will need the herbs it holds."

Thorin heeds the order, placing Talaitha carefully onto the bed. Óin is on his heels and wastes no time in examining the szelemér. He gently palpates her abdomen and places his hearing horn against it, listening.

Thorin watches, anxiety arcing through him like lightning. The healer looks aggrieved, and Thorin desperately prays he won't confirm his fears.

"What's wrong with her?"

"She has miscarried," Óin says somberly.

Thorin closes his eyes, inhaling deeply to calm himself.

"Is that why she fainted?"

"Aye, from the shock and blood loss." Óin lifts Talaitha's nightdress to her knees, hesitating. "May I examine her?"

Thorin looks surprised at the question but nods, almost absently. He kneels by the bed, taking Talaitha's bloodied hand in his. His heart feels like it's breaking, like it's shattering into a thousand pieces.

"She knew, Óin," Thorin says, voice thick with emotion. "She knew something was wrong. She _felt_ it."

"Miscarriages are often spontaneous and without apparent cause," the healer explains gently. "There was no way to prevent this, Thorin." He offers the king a damp cloth and places a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, there was," Thorin says brokenly. He begins to clean Talaitha's thighs, his stomach clenching at how much blood stains them. "She should never have become pregnant. It is too dangerous for a dwarf and a szelemér to have children together."

"Is that what the elf healer said?"

"More or less," Thorin replies. The liquid in the bowl is red, so he replaces it with clean water. "He said that there's no way to know how such a pregnancy will progress, as this is the first time it has happened. But there's a chance that our two races are reproductively incompatible."

"Perhaps when Talaitha recovers, she should see the elf healer," Óin suggests, while he makes a tonic.

Thorin nods. He had already considered that. The next few weeks would be quiet, so he could accompany her. But even if war broke out, he would go with her.

"Hold these under her nose," Óin instructs, handing Thorin a bowl of smelling salts. "She must drink the tonic."

#

Later, when Talaitha is asleep, a small _mew_ comes from a darkened corner of the healing ward.

"What is that?"

"Mimaskad," Thorin sighs. "Talaitha's kitten. He must have followed me from our room, looking for her."

The black kitten is staring up at Thorin, wiggling its hind quarters, as if preparing to jump. He _mews_ again, more insistently.

Though he tries to fight it, Thorin feels a certain fondness for the little kitten, if only because of his attachment to Talaitha.

"Come on, then."

He picks up Mimaskad and places him on the bed. The corners of his lips twitch, a smile threatening, as the kitten curls up in the crook of Talaitha's neck.

Even from the neighboring room, Óin can hear his purring.


	13. Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wounds can heal.

Two months have elapsed since Talaitha's miscarriage, and though her physical recovery had been swift, Thorin can't shake the fear that she is hurting. True, Talaitha goes about her days as before the incident, but there is nevertheless something different about her. Her smiles are dimmer. She shies away from Thorin's touch, finding excuses to be alone. She assures him that all is well, but each time, her refusal to meet his gaze suggests otherwise. He offers to accompany her to Rivendell, even calls Lord Elrond by his proper name, but she declines. Elrond could tell her nothing she didn't already know. He sends Kíli and the kittens to her, but even their antics fail to cheer her. Talaitha's only solace seems to be in Szélvész, but she will not ride the mare.

And so Thorin watches Talaitha slowly fold in on herself, slowly become a shadow of the vibrant woman he loves. She grieves for their unborn child. He does, too, but the loss is far more poignant for her.

"I felt him, you know," she whispers one night. "The moment he died."

Thorin swallows the lump in his throat and instinctively reaches for her, but pulls back before he can touch her. She would not want his embrace.

"It felt like a part of me died, too," she continues, then laughs hollowly. "I suppose a part of me did. And a part of you."

It's a kick to the gut, but Thorin knows she is not being intentionally cruel. He lies on his side, facing her, and waits. This is the most she has spoken about the miscarriage, and now he can see just how deeply it's affected her. She's curled into the fetal position, small and fragile, with tears sliding silently down her cheeks.

"I failed, Thorin." She looks up at him, finally meeting his gaze after two months. "I failed."

"You did not fail," he soothes, longing to pull her into his arms.

She shivers, but the room is warm from the fire.

"A mother is supposed to protect her child."

"It was not your fault," Thorin says harshly and winces. He's meant to be comforting her, not venting his own anger. "Óin said there was nothing you could have done to prevent it."

"I'm a soul healer, Thorin," she snaps. "Of course there's something I could've done."

He knows there isn't. He knows it's because of him. And he feels as if the ground has fallen out from beneath his feet.

"No, there was not." The reply is soft yet laced with something dark and almost tortured. "When Thranduil explained soul healing, he said that what you did can only be done once." He pauses, assessing her. Surely she knows what he is about to say. "If our child was dying, you could not have saved him, because-."

"Because I'd already saved you," Talaitha finishes. "Yes, I know."

"You would have died in vain, for the babe could not survive without you." Neither could he, Thorin thinks. But that's a selfish thought, reserved for another day. "If it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

"Because of how he was conceived," Talaitha nods. "But sex is sex, Thorin."

"I was angry-"

"You were furious."

"And perhaps I..." He trails off, unable to look at her. "Perhaps Aulë is punishing me for my rage."

"Then he's punishing me, too," she murmurs.

Thorin laughs darkly. "For saving me, surely."

"Perhaps," Talaitha agrees. "But I don't regret it, you know." She smiles. It's small and fleeting, but it makes Thorin's heart soar with joy.

He reaches out to clasp her hand, and when she lets him, he knows they will be well again. Maybe not that night. Maybe not tomorrow. But time would heal their wounds and might even give them another chance.


	14. Beneath the Starry Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Talaitha heal. Rated **M** for sex.
> 
> Just in case it wasn't entirely clear, Thorin believes the miscarriage was his fault, because the child was conceived from jealousy-fueled and angry sex (against the wall after he sees Talaitha with her ex-lover). He _was_ genuinely sorry when he followed her to Mirkwood, but I didn't think her leaving was enough to make him realize he can't behave that way. But the loss of a child _was_ , because dwarves conceive and reproduce with relative rarity. That was the primary reason for the miscarriage, though it was also to highlight the difficulty of dwarf-szelemér reproduction.

Each year, when the night is longer than the day and the moon is away, the wood elves celebrate the Feast of Starlight. They drink, dance, feast, and love in secluded clearings beneath the starry sky. Many a wood elf, including the prince, was conceived during this celebration, for there is no more sacred a night in Eryn Lasgalen.

Thorin knows about the Feast of Starlight, has even attended it once or twice as a young dwarf before relations with the wood elves had soured. He remembers the gauzy gowns that shone iridescent in the silvery starlight, the haunting flute music that sounded as though the night itself had composed it. He remembers it all fondly, if reluctantly, because then he had been fascinated by the elves' strange customs.

Nearly two centuries later, however, he's less enthused. But Talaitha, sitting beside him in a glittering white gown, is as good a reason as any to endure elvish hospitality. She is at home with Thranduil and his kin and, if one ignores the substantial height difference, could even pass as one of them. He considers the irony of that but only briefly, for when she smiles at him in between conversations with Legolas, he finds he cannot think at all. They need this night, he and Talaitha, to forget about the miscarriage and the kingdom and the trade emissaries.

He catches sight of Thranduil, who inclines his head regally, before taking a sip of Dorwinion wine. Thorin follows his lead. The drink is strong and fruity but with a tart bite that burns just slightly down his throat. Though he is loath to admit it, the elves make exquisite wine. Talaitha apparently disagrees, for she offers him her glass and opts for water instead.

"Light-weight," he murmurs teasingly into her ear. He lingers longer than necessary, her hair soft and fragrant against his nose.

"Do you _want_ me to be drunk tonight?" she asks, with an arched brow.

"No," he replies, twirling a copper curl around his finger. "Although, I have yet to see you drunk. From the sounds of it, you are quite...brash."

Talaitha nods, a smirk threatening to form on her lips. "Oh, yes. And I'm liable to mistake you for someone else and shout at you in a very public place."

"Or shout for other reasons."

"Thorin!" she admonishes, but she's giggling. "I'm not so certain _you_ aren't a bit drunk."

"After two goblets? Hardly," Thorin scoffs. "The wine is strong, but not that strong."

The musicians begin to play the haunting melodies from Thorin's memories. Flutes and harps harmonize beautifully, while something lower and deeper pulses like a heartbeat. The elves leave the tables, long limbs moving gracefully in a dance. Males and females, females and females, males and males--the night is a celebration of love and sensuality and friendship.

Thranduil catches Thorin's gaze and raises those expressive brows. The dwarf glances at Talaitha, who is watching the dancing elves with wistful eyes. He doesn't want to dance, especially not among the much taller elves. He doesn't want to suffer the elf king's too-knowing looks, or his son's stern, blue stare over Talaitha's head. But he will do all those things and more.

"Come," Thorin bids, holding out his hand to Talaitha. She takes it, with only a mildly surprised expression.

The elves dwarf them, as he knew they would, but he finds he cannot care. Talaitha is warm in his arms as he leads her in a valiant attempt at the dance. She giggles when they misstep, when they drift a little too close to the couple beside them. She giggles a lot that night, resting her forehead against his chest, and Thorin relishes it, like a sapling relishes the sun. After the miscarriage, he had feared he would never see her happy again.

Slowly, he leads them farther and farther from the dancing elves, until they've left the celebration area altogether. Neither speaks as they walk through the forest, the trees still untouched by the evil from Dol Guldur. Thorin knows it is only Thranduil's magic that keeps the darkness at bay, and he knows that tonight, at least, this part of the forest is safe.

They find a clearing--a lovely, green meadow, carpeted with flowers. The grass is soft and cool beneath their bare feet. Starlight reflects in Talaitha's eyes, making the yellowish-green appear silvery, and her pale skin fairly glows. He moves away from her, warmth coursing through him when he notices the white gown is nearly translucent in the sparkling light. Thorin can see the shape of her figure, the curve of her breasts, and the long lines of her legs.

Then the dress is slinking to the grass, revealing milk-white skin that seems to beckon to him. He cannot resist it.

Large hands travel reverently along her body, into each dip and over each curve. She is hardly uncharted territory, but he maps every inch of her, memorizing again and again the gentle slope of her breasts and the flare of her hips.

Only when he has touched all of her does he kiss her, and it's like lightning has struck them, setting their nerve endings on fire. He feels raw and exposed, even though he is still fully clothed, and he can only imagine how Talaitha feels. She is pulling him close, hands gripping his tunic, silently begging for more.

He obliges, for he needs it, too. His clothes fall to a pile at his feet, and her hands are on his skin, smoothing over the muscles of his arms and torso. Lips join her questing fingers, trailing kisses along his neck and collarbones, across the broad expanse of his chest. He holds her as close as he can, kneading the soft flesh of her buttocks, delighting in her quiet moan into his shoulder. But it's not enough. He needs more.

Draping his cloak on the ground, he sits and guides her down onto his lap. She shivers against him when he takes her earlobe between his teeth, before his lips move down her neck. She presses into him as he gently sucks the skin above her pulse point, and he can feel her heartbeat speed up beneath his tongue. Her weight upon his groin is nearly maddening, but he resists the urge to take her. The Feast of Starlight is about more than mere lust. It's about exploring each other completely for as long as the stars provide the light. Peak too many times too quickly, and one is left with naught to do but sleep or return to the tables.

And so Thorin eases Talaitha onto her back and gazes down at her. She's looking up at him with such sweetness that his heart leaps into his throat. He kisses her, or else he might become overwhelmed with emotion. But as she smiles against his lips, he suspects she knows precisely what he's feeling.

As their kisses grow more heated, Talaitha's thighs spread, inviting him to settle between them. His hardness grazes her belly, a bit of fluid already dripping from the tip, and her arms tighten around his neck. Breaking the kiss, he moves down her body to kneel between her legs. From this vantage point, his view is exquisite. He cannot resist cupping her breasts, thumbs circling the nipples, as he watches her eyes flutter shut. He kneads the soft mounds, then replaces his hands with his lips, suckling first one breast, then the other. When she arches against his mouth, he groans and grips her hips.

Thorin leaves her breasts reluctantly, but something far sweeter beckons. He runs a finger up her calf and along her thigh, marveling at their softness and smoothness. No matter how many times he sees her bare, he cannot fail to notice how very different Talaitha is from dwarf women. Though strong muscles hide beneath her skin, she is neither stocky nor sturdy. Yet she is not willowy, like a she-elf, either. Briefly, Thorin thinks back to what the other szelemér women looked like, but when he feels her shift beneath his hands, he couldn't care less how she compares.

His lips replace his finger, and as his kisses near her core, she spread her legs even wider, granting him access to her most sensitive region. A finger strokes her sex, sending a slight shudder through Talaitha. He slowly spreads her labia, grinning when he feels the slickness between her folds. She's ready for him, but he takes his time.

Thorin kisses a path up her leg, starting at her ankle and pressing extra kisses to the faint scar from the arrow wound on her thigh. It serves as a constant reminder of how close he had come to losing her once. She giggles when he licks the underside of her knee, and he remembers the area is one of her ticklish spots. Though he is tempted to take advantage of her vulnerability, there are other, more intriguing ways to make her squirm.

He pushes a finger into her and nearly groans at how warm, wet, and tight she is. He strokes her clit with his thumb, and his length twitches when she clenches around his finger. The sight of her with her eyes closed and her bottom lip between her teeth threatens to undo his control, but for now, he quashes his own pleasure in favor of hers.

He pushes in a second finger, quickly finding that bundle of nerves, and increases the pressure on her clit. Talaitha's hips rise to meet his hand, her lips parting in a silent sigh. A light pink flush appears on her chest, spreading to her neck, and her heartbeat speeds up, when suddenly, he pulls away. Her eyes open, and she raises her eyebrows in question. As answer, his mouth replaces his hand, and she gasps at the contrast of his soft, warm lips on her core and his rough beard scratching the inside of her thigh. Thorin's tongue swirls around her clit, gently at first, but when her fingers find their way into his hair, he increases the pressure and closes his mouth over her flesh, sucking. She bucks her hips, gasping, causing him to tighten his hold on her thighs so as not to become dislodged. When his tongue enters her, she pulls his hair hard enough to hurt, and the combination of his tongue probing inside her and his thumb on her clit sends her over the edge. She cries out as her muscles clench, and he rides out her release with her, letting up only when her spasms do.

Giving her time to recover from her orgasm, he kisses his way up her body, pausing at her belly to silently marvel at the soft skin. But more than that, he allows himself to remember her belly swollen with his child. The thought fills him with a sense of loss, but also with hope and love, and he kisses her stomach reverently.

"Our first child was conceived from my desire to possess," he says, laying his head onto her belly. "This one will be conceived out of love."

Tears shine in Talaitha's eyes, and Thorin kisses her so fiercely that it steals her breath. He enters her, sliding into her tight heat fluidly, albeit slowly and carefully. This first time is not meant to be hurried or rough. It's his opportunity to atone for his sins, to cherish her instead of to dominate her. Quelling his urge to thrust is easier than he anticipates, but then again, Talaitha awakens in him not only powerful desire, but also a soul-deep yearning that only she can assuage. Their bond is more than lust, more than even love, for a part of Talaitha truly resides within him now.

They fall into a rhythm, into a give-and-take symbiosis, punctuated with almost sinful, breath-stealing kisses. A liquid warmth begins to pool at the base of his spine, radiating up and down his body.

He lifts her left leg and slings it around his hip, allowing him to penetrate her more deeply. It changes the angle of his thrusts so that he strikes that spot along the roof of her vagina. She cries out softly, gripping his shoulders, and as he quickens his pace, he groans when her walls clench around him. The warmth spreads from his spine, as his stones tighten and draw up towards his body. He's close, so close, but he refuses to reach orgasm before she does.

Thorin shifts and rubs her clit with his thumb, reveling in the pants and moans his ministrations elicit. He increases the pressure on her core, while his length repeatedly strokes her within, and seconds later, she arches up into him, falling over the edge with a soft moan. He thrusts twice more before he groans and spills deep inside her, capturing her lips as they descend from their high.

When their breathing returns to normal, he rests his forehead against hers, closing his eyes in post-coital bliss, his hair shielding them from the world. He doesn't pull out, not even when he begins to soften, knowing that this physical union is as important as their emotional one. And from the way Talaitha clings to him, he knows she needs it as much as he does. After the last few months, they finally find the comfort they've been seeking in each other's arms.


	15. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and kitty love. 
> 
> Based on a year-long gestation for elves, I've worked out that szelemér pregnancies last about 11 months, so a dwarf-szelemér gestation should be around 10 months, since I've postulated that dwarf pregnancies are a little over 9 months long. I've very little factual support for this, as I've only a moderate comprehension of reproductive science, but in Tolkien's case, the elves are immortal and perhaps the most mentally advanced of all the races, so they have the longest pregnancies. Szelemér are next, because their average lifespan is 1000 years and they possess special talents, followed by dwarves, hobbits, and humans. Roughly. I won't even postulate on the orcs...

_6 months_

"My breeches don't fit anymore."

Thorin looks over from the bed, and it's all he can do not to laugh. Talaitha is standing in front of the mirror, blouse rucked up over her pregnant belly, in the process of getting dressed. After a third attempt to pull up the breeches, she stomps her foot and groans.

"Help me."

Still clad in only his smallclothes, Thorin gets out of bed and tries to help. But no matter how much he tugs on the garment, it won't budge past her hips.

"I think it's a lost cause, my _ûrzud_." He falls to his knees and slowly pulls down the breeches, helping her to step out of them. "You don't need clothes today anyway. Not for what I have planned." Thorin wraps his arms around her naked thighs and rests his head against her belly, but then abruptly wrenches away.

"It moved!"

" _She_ moved," Talaitha corrects, her fingers combing leisurely through his hair. "She's been quite active lately."

"I have never felt it before." He stares at her stomach in wonder and carefully lays his cheek against it. Talaitha can hear the smile in his voice, as he exclaims, "I think she kicked this time!"

"She did," Talaitha affirms, placing a hand on her abdomen.

Thorin looks up to see her smiling down at him, his excitement chasing away her irritation over her ill-fitting clothing. He kisses her belly where he thinks their baby's foot is and tightens his arms around Talaitha.

"It never ceases to amaze me that you are carrying our child inside you," he says tenderly. "It's another life, a life that _we_ created."

"In Mirkwood."

Thorin scowls, earning a giggle from Talaitha, but when he feels the baby move again, he cannot stay cross for long.

"Aye, in Mirkwood." He stands and unbuttons her blouse, letting it fall to the floor. "Come back to bed."

He lies on his back, one arm pillowed beneath his head and the other around Talaitha's waist, holding her close. Once she's settled, with her head resting on his chest and a leg draped across his thighs, he pulls the covers over them. Though the room is already quite warm, blankets make Talaitha feel cozy and safe. And Thorin will do everything he can to ensure she is as comfortable as possible during her pregnancy, even if that means his own discomfort.

They lie together for a while, listening to the logs crackling in the fireplace and the din of the dwarves at work. Mining has resumed, and the sounds occasionally reverberate throughout the mountain, but to Thorin, they are familiar and reassuring. To Talaitha, however, they were distracting at first, but she has since grown accustomed to them.

"This baby will change everything," she remarks.

"I know."

"We won't have much time to ourselves."

Thorin kisses the top of her head, as he slowly strokes her side. "Which is why I sent Balin to meet with the dwarves from the Iron Hills today."

"Mmm, I'm glad for that," she hums contentedly. "When this baby comes, we won't get much sleep either, you know."

"Well, _you_ certainly will not," he says, laughing when she pokes his stomach. "I jest, beloved."

"I hope so," she replies sternly. "For your sake."

He places a finger under her chin and tilts it up to look at him. His gaze is warm and full of love, making her heart beat a tiny bit faster. "I will be involved in this child's life, Talaitha. Every moment of it." Leaning his head down, Thorin murmurs against her lips, "You are not alone in this."

"I know," she whispers, tears gathering in her eyes. "We will do this together."

He kisses her, his lips trailing from her own to the tears that escape down her cheek.

"Together."

There's a _meow_ from the side of the bed, and Thorin groans, while Talaitha laughs.

"Yes, you're part of the family, too, Mimaskad."

The black cat jumps onto the bed, curling up on the pillow beside Talaitha's head. He immediately starts purring when Talaitha shifts to pet him.

"He is no longer a kitten," Thorin grumbles. "He should not be sleeping on our bed."

Mimaskad stares at Thorin, his green eyes passive and disinterested. Then he yawns and noses at Talaitha's forehead, as if to taunt the dwarf.

"He isn't even a year old yet," Talaitha protests, resting her head on Thorin's chest again. "Let him sleep here until the baby is born."

Thorin knows he cannot win, and he doesn't really want to. Although he was skeptical about Mimaskad when Talaitha had brought him home, after seeing his attachment to her, Thorin has warmed up to him. When he thinks no one is watching, he'll even bend down to stroke his fur, and he might even talk to him, if he's in a particularly good mood. But unbeknownst to Thorin, both Dís and Talaitha have witnessed the interactions, and since then, neither woman takes his complaints about the cat seriously.

"Together, then," he murmurs, glancing at Mimaskad.

Talaitha merely smiles and snuggles into his chest hair.


	16. One Body, One Heart, One Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin discovers Talaitha in her workroom. A delicious night ensues (i.e. rated M).

_9 months_

It's late, and Thorin is on his way back to his chambers after a grueling day of meetings, when he notices that the door to Talaitha's workroom is ajar. It's not unusual to find her there, but given the hour and her pregnancy, he feels compelled to peek inside. What he sees makes him smile.

His wife is moving about the room as well as her very pregnant belly will allow, tying string around bunches of medicinal plants and hanging them up to dry. Occasionally, she pauses to smell the herbs, which is her preferred method of identifying them. As a skilled healer, Talaitha knows them all by sight, but she insists that using scent and touch makes her feel closer to the earth. Thorin can understand that, for dwarves are the same with their metals and jewels.

"Oh, for Eru's sake," she mumbles, trying to bend forward to pick up the string she dropped.

Thorin finds her efforts endearing, but in the end, he decides to spare her the frustration and picks up the twine.

"Nine months in and you still forget you are pregnant," he chides fondly, taking the bunch of herbs from her and tying the string around it.

"Forget? Hardly," Talaitha scoffs. "Merely ignore sometimes."

Thorin smirks. "Yes, when it inconveniences you."

"I'd like to see _you_ go about your days with an ever-expanding stomach." She gestures angrily at her feet. "I can't even pick up something from the floor!"

Thorin chuckles and places a hand on her cheek in an attempt to mollify her. Talaitha resists, scowling and crossing her arms across her chest, but when she glimpses the affection in his gaze, her expression softens.

"I shouldn't complain. I have not forgotten how difficult it was for us to get here, and I'm glad to be able to give you an heir." She guides his hand to her lips and kisses his palm. "But I will be even gladder when this little one is born."

Thorin smiles, his hands moving down to rest upon her belly. The baby, perhaps sensing his touch, gives a powerful kick that makes Talaitha wince.

"Our child seems equally eager to be born," he laughs.

"She's been unusually active today," Talaitha says, leaning into him as much as she can. "She's been moving around and kicking, especially when Kíli's nearby."

"My nephew has a talent for prompting reactions from others," Thorin remarks wryly.

"Actually, I think she likes the sound of his voice because he's always so cheerful."

Thorin buries his nose into her hair. "Aye, that he is."

Talaitha shifts against him, offering him a clear view of her breasts, which have grown considerably during her pregnancy. She considers them as much of a nuisance as her stomach, but the sight of them never fails to send a bolt of desire to his groin.

"Are you finished with your herbs?" he asks, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"For tonight. Did you have a specific activity in mind?"

Thorin pulls away to see her face. She's looking up at him with mischief in her eyes and a knowing smirk. Ever since the nausea had passed, Talaitha's libido has been nearly insatiable.

"Indeed I do," he whispers by her ear.

He picks her up carefully, grinning when she squeaks in surprise, and carries her to their chambers. He nuzzles her neck, his beard scraping against the soft skin, earning him an enticing shiver. She giggles when he reaches a ticklish spot below her collarbone and tilts her head to grant him better access. Lips, teeth, and tongue alternate their attention to her neck, as he slowly pushes the dress over her shoulders and chest.

Thorin cups her naked breasts, gently kneading the heavy, swollen flesh, his thumb tracing feather-light circles around her nipples. Kisses are trailed in the valley between the mounds and along the swell below them. Talaitha's breath hitches when his tongue swirls around a nipple, her fingers tangling in his hair and holding his head to her chest. Because her breasts have become quite sensitive, his ministrations are gentler than usual, but the sensations are nevertheless intense. It had taken a few attempts to learn the right amount of stimulation, but now Thorin knows exactly how and where to touch to make Talaitha's knees go weak.

Pulling away to help her out of the dress, he stares, transfixed, at her naked form. She'd always been beautiful to him, but watching her curves fill out and her belly grow had been an incredible privilege. Each morning, when he awakes beside her, he thanks the Valar for his good fortune. He wouldn't trade that feeling for anything, not even for the Arkenstone.

But her fuller figure stirs another emotion, as well. Desire. As proof, his erection strains against his breeches.

He ignores it.

"I shall never tire of this sight," he breathes, kneeling in front of her to kiss her stomach. "Or of the knowledge that we created this."

Talaitha smiles down at him and strokes his hair.

"In a little over a month, we will get to meet our child."

"And then we can create another."

The suggestion earns him a playful shove.

"Is that so? Well, you can carry it the next time, then."

Thorin laughs and as he does, he trails kisses down her belly, until he reaches the soft curls between her thighs. She shivers when his breath ghosts over her core, holding onto him as he slings a leg over his shoulder. He parts her labia with his fingers and licks a stripe up her vagina, his length twitching at the slickness there. Slipping a finger inside her, his other hand grips her buttocks, guiding her pelvis closer to his mouth.

Talaitha gasps when he inserts two more fingers, stretching her and moving them deep inside her to find that sensitive bundle of nerves. Her moan sends a wave of lust through his body, and as he suckles her clit, her breaths grow increasingly more uneven. Thorin tastes her arousal on his tongue, and her heady scent clouds his mind, but he feels the sudden tautness of her muscles, signaling her impending orgasm.

He pulls away, wiping her wetness from his beard, and stands, claiming her lips in a scorching kiss. Her hands adeptly work his breeches open, pushing them impatiently over his hips.

"So eager, my love," he murmurs huskily, looking down at her with a dark, smoldering gaze. Her eyes mirror his own, light irises almost completely eclipsed.

"You can blame your daughter for that," Talaitha says, in between kisses to his neck.

He slips an arm around her waist and leads her to their bed, helping her lie onto her side. He positions himself behind her, his erection settling between her buttocks, the head rubbing over her slick folds. Thorin kisses her shoulder and lifts her thigh.

"Or my son."

"This child is a girl," she says, slightly breathless. "I can feel it."

Thorin smiles. "I know you can."

Then he pushes into her, enjoying the moan that leaves her throat and groaning as her tight heat envelopes him. During her first pregnancy, he had been hesitant to penetrate her, afraid that the sex would harm the babe. But once Talaitha had reassured him that it was safe, he took full advantage of her heightened libido.

Allowing her a moment to adjust, his hand moves from her waist to her belly, smoothing over it. Thorin is rewarded with another kick, gentler than the previous one, and he grins as the baby seems to shift closer to his hand.

"She likes you already," Talaitha remarks, pushing her backside against him. "Now take your hands off my stomach and move."

He doesn't need telling twice. His thrusts are slow, the head of his cock dragging over her bundle of nerves, wrenching a sharp gasp from her lips. She clenches around him, and he groans, his pace increasing in speed if not in force. Talaitha has accused him of being too careful, but he won't take any chances. Not after the miscarriage.

The hand supporting her thigh moves to her hip, while the one on her stomach drops to her core. With every thrust, he pulls her into him, and two fingers rub hard circles over her clit. She moans and matches his rhythm as well as she can, an arm snaking behind her to his waist. Strong muscles flex and relax beneath her palm, as she tips her head back onto his shoulder.

Heat begins to pool at the base of Thorin's spine, and from Talaitha's ragged breaths, he knows she, too, is close. And then he feels fingers ghost over his stones, rolling them and stroking them, until the only thing he can focus on is the delicious warmth building and threatening to burst. He increases the pressure and speed on her clit, and as she tenses, a final drag over her bundle of nerves sends her over the edge. She cries out, clenching powerfully around him, and it only takes three more shallow, erratic thrusts before he joins her with a guttural groan, burying himself as deep as he dares.

He curls his body around hers, pressing kisses upon her back and chuckling softly at her contented sigh. It's these quiet moments, when he's still inside her and their sweat-slicked skin is cooling, that Thorin cherishes the most. He feels one with Talaitha--one body, one heart, one soul. And he supposes they are, for the babe within her womb is the physical manifestation of that bond.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, craning her neck to look at him.

"You," he replies, with a kiss to her lips. "And that we are sticky."

Talaitha giggles and shifts against him in an attempt to escape the wet spot beneath her.

"Very sticky."

"That is easily remedied," he says, lifting her and carrying her into the washroom.

He dampens a cloth and begins to wipe her belly, thighs, and buttocks. Talaitha watches him, a brow arched in amusement.

"I _can_ clean myself, you know."

"I know," Thorin smiles. "But it is so rare an occasion when you allow me to dote upon you."

"Well, soon you will have another who will want your love."

Thorin wraps his arms around her middle and kisses her stomach.

"She already has it."


	17. Ara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birth.

_44 weeks_

The clang of metal reverberates throughout the room as the two dwarves exchange blows. Thorin blocks Dwalin's sword with his, pushing back roughly. Dwalin grunts but holds his ground, being the stronger and heavier of the two. He steps away, assessing, easily parrying Thorin's strike. They are well-matched, with Thorin's cunning and speed compensating for his smaller bulk, so their sparring matches often end in a draw.

But not today. Today Thorin is distracted.

He stumbles, narrowly avoiding the blade of Dwalin's sword.

"That's two," Dwalin notes.

Two near-misses.

"Shut up."

Thorin feints and slashes, but Dwalin intercepts.

"And you're slow."

The king drives his elbow into Dwalin's side and skips back before the other can retaliate.

"Still faster than you."

"But not fast enough," Dwalin says, nodding towards the cut on Thorin's forearm. "You may as well tell me." His blade thrusts forward. "While you still can."

Thorin bats aside Dwalin's sword with his, smirking.

"Such confidence."

Dwalin attacks more forcefully but is again blocked.

"Talk."

"My wife is days away from giving birth," Thorin says, ducking to avoid Dwalin's strike. He surges up and gets Orcrist's tip mere inches from Dwalin's abdomen, before the other dwarf parries. "And you ask what is on my mind?"

"You're afraid." Dwalin holds out his sword, observing Thorin, whose shoulders slump slightly. "Of course you are."

"Not just of the birth."

Dwalin spears his sword into the soft turf of the training grounds and approaches Thorin, clapping a hand on his back.

"Ale. Now."

But as they're leaving, Nifha rushes inside, breathing heavily.

"You must come, my lord," she pants. "Talaitha is in labor."

Thorin's eyes widen, and his sword drops, forgotten.

"Where?"

"Your chambers."

Without a second glance, Thorin is racing up the stairs and through the halls, his heart beating almost painfully quickly. When he bursts through the door, Talaitha looks up, startled but not in the state he had expected.

"Why aren't you in bed?" he demands, looking from Talaitha to his surroundings. "And where is Óin?"

She walks towards him, a hand on her lower back, and kisses his cheek.

"You need not have come so urgently. My contractions have only just begun."

Thorin instinctively wraps an arm around her waist and allows her to lead him into the room.

"But Nifha said you are in labor."

"I am," Talaitha affirms. She guides him to a chair and begins folding the clothes she had washed that morning. Seeing Thorin's bemused expression, she explains. "Early labor can last for hours or even days, depending on the woman. The contractions are still mild, so I can move about and finish a few chores."

As proof, Talaitha puts away their clothes, conscious of Thorin's concerned gaze.

"Don't you remember Dís' pregnancies?"

Thorin watches Talaitha wince, as she reaches to place a folded cloak on the top shelf of their wardrobe. He takes the rest of the clothes from her, setting them aside to embrace her, his hands massaging her lower back. She leans her head against his chest, listening to the comforting rhythm of his heart

"Yes, but I wasn't there for her labor," he replies. "I _will_ be here for yours."

Talaitha smiles, her voice muffled by his tunic.

"That is not dwarvish custom."

"No," he agrees. "But neither you nor our child is a dwarf, which makes this birth special."

As the muscles in her lower back begin to relax beneath his warm hands, she warns, "You may come to regret that decision."

Six hours later, Talaitha's contractions have become too painful for chores, forcing her into bed. But even now, she insists that Óin is not needed yet, for she can monitor her labor well enough on her own. Thorin trusts her, but every time her face contorts in pain, he has to quell the urge to run for the healer.

He helps her as much as he can, talking to her about whatever comes to mind, placing kisses on her sweat-slicked forehead, rubbing her belly and back, or just holding her through the contractions. He feels the baby moving, turning, feels Talaitha's abdomen adjusting. His heart constricts with every groan and whimper, but outwardly, she appears calm, so he must be calm, too.

"It hurts," she whispers, and from the way she squeezes his hand, he knows it.

"Let me send for Óin."

"Not until my water breaks." She closes her eyes and breathes slowly. "A bath might help."

Thorin kisses her temple. "Then a bath you shall have."

He runs warm water and adds some of the lissuin soap that Thranduil gifted them, before helping Talaitha into the tub. She sighs, the warmth easing her discomfort, and holds out her hand towards him.

"Having you near me helps."

He undresses quickly, relieved she wants him with her.

"It helps me, too," he admits.

The water sloshes over the side, wetting part of his tunic on the floor, as Thorin situates himself behind Talaitha. She rests against him, her head on his shoulder and his arms around her belly. Though he knows her contractions are growing more intense, she seems to be in less pain than earlier.

"Baths are commonly used as relief during szelemér labor," she says, as if she'd read his thoughts. Talaitha pauses, breathing deeply through her nose until another wave passes. "Among hobbits, too."

"Is it also common for husbands to be present?"

"Mmm," Talaitha hums. "During the birth, as well."

He noses her ear, placing a small kiss below it.

"I still don't regret my decision to stay."

Talaitha tries to laugh, but it sounds more like a grunt.

"Just wait."

An hour later, her water breaks, and she finally tells Thorin to send for Óin. The healer is examining her, gently palpating her abdomen and checking her pelvis, while Thorin watches with growing anxiety. Talaitha is in significant pain now, her eyes closed and her face pale.

"You are nearly fully dilated," Óin says, wiping his hand on a clean cloth. "When you feel the urge to push, bear down just as your contraction peaks."

Talaitha nods, concentrating on her breathing. She is shivering, yet a light sheen of sweat covers her skin, and Thorin doesn't know whether to warm her or to fan her. So he contents himself with kneeling beside her and stroking her hair, feeling incredibly useless.

But when Talaitha reaches for him during a particularly strong contraction, he stops thinking about how he feels and focuses on her. She moans, clutching his arm as if it were a lifeline.

"Support her," Óin instructs and spreads her legs wider. "Are you ready, Talaitha?"

Thorin holds her as she hunches forward and bears down, gritting her teeth with the effort. After fifteen seconds, she falls back onto him, but he barely notices the weight. He is too preoccupied with how her body strains to deliver their child.

The process is repeated several times, until Óin announces that the top of the baby's head is visible.

"You should look," Talaitha urges, her voice tight from the pain.

Thorin stares at her in dismay, not wanting to leave her when she needs him most. But she smiles wanly and says, "It's just pushing."

A simplification, Thorin thinks, but Óin impatiently beckons him forward.

"If you want to see your child being born, you must come now."

So he does.

Talaitha pushes three more times, a scream ripping from her when the baby's head slowly emerges. Thorin watches, amazed and horrified, as her body stretches to accommodate the head, after which the baby's body turns to the side and slides easily out.

Talaitha collapses onto the pillows, breathing hard, involuntary tears welling in her eyes. Thorin gazes at the tiny being, covered in blood and something yellow, as Óin gently but quickly rubs her down with a clean cloth. Within seconds, loud squalls fill the room.

"She has strong lungs, this one," Óin chuckles.

"A trait acquired from her father," Talaitha says wryly.

Thorin glances at her, noting that she looks exhausted but happy.

"She's here." His voice is hoarse with emotion.

"She is," Talaitha replies, smiling sweetly.

When Óin is satisfied that the umbilical cord is no longer pumping blood, he offers Thorin a pair of scissors.

"Would you like to cut your daughter's cord?" He secures two clamps on either side of the cord and points to a spot between them. "Cut there."

Thorin takes the scissors and snips the cord. Óin places the child onto Talaitha's chest, where she whimpers and squirms but no longer cries.

"What's her name?" Óin asks, while he tends to the afterbirth.

"Ara." Talaitha beams down at her daughter and bundles her in a light green blanket. "It means 'shining' in Szila."

Thorin watches Talaitha interact with Ara, her expression so full of love that his vision is blurry from tears. When Talaitha kisses her nose, Ara's eyes open, staring first at Talaitha, then at Thorin, and blinking blearily in the orange firelight.

"She's..." Thorin begins, but his throat constricts.

"Perfect," Talaitha finishes. She shifts Ara and takes Thorin's hand, tugging on it.

He nods mutely and sits beside Talaitha on the bed, unable to take his gaze from his daughter's blue eyes. She looks back, making soft baby noises.

"Do you want to hold her?" Talaitha asks, lifting Ara towards him.

Thorin held his nephews when they were newborns, but somehow this is more significant. He takes Ara, settling her carefully in the crook of his arm, marveling at how small and warm she is. His heart feels like it will explode from sheer love. With a start, he realizes that he had been waiting his entire life for this moment, for this child, and as he sits on the edge of their bed, he is overwhelmed with love and gratitude towards Talaitha for gifting him with Ara.

"I love you," he says, leaning forward to kiss her lips. "Both of you."

Ara is less appreciative of Thorin's kiss, scrunching up her face against the prickle of his beard on her forehead. As if to punish him, she flails an arm, which hits him squarely in the nose.

Thorin chuckles. Ara is only minutes old, yet she already has him wrapped completely around her tiny finger.


	18. Politics and Parenthood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy!Thorin
> 
> In other words, Thorin and Talaitha adjust to parenthood.

One month after the birth, Thorin and Talaitha officially announce Ara's status as heir to the throne of Erebor. Customarily, female dwarves are queen only through marriage, not inheritance, and in the event of the king's death, they remarry the king's closest male relative. But Ara would not be bound by such restrictions. She could rule alone, if she chooses.

The new law is a stark departure from tradition, and unsurprisingly, there are objections. They come primarily from the older, more conservative council members, who are keen to maintain male social superiority. According to them, dwarvish women are too precious to be thrust into the rigors of politics, even though kings regularly take counsel with their queens. But despite their protests, the opponents don't outright blame Talaitha for the change, because they fear Thorin's displeasure. Nevertheless, it is widely acknowledged that the king's relationship with the szelemér woman has broadened his views, in addition to his time spent in Nemere, where females enjoy social equality with males.

"They will accept it eventually," Thorin says. "For they have little choice."

Talaitha glances up at her husband, as she shifts Ara into a better position against her breast. "Or they could revolt."

"And if they do, I will suppress it."

Thorin sits beside her on the bed to watch her nurse their child, a smile forming on his lips. With her messy curls and the dark circles under her eyes, Talaitha certainly looks sleep-deprived, but to him, she has never been more beautiful. She is the picture of motherhood, with Ara latched onto her breast, one tiny hand clutching Talaitha's finger and the other curled into a fist beneath her chin. Her eyes are closed, and she suckles peacefully, swallowing in soft, little gulps. He reaches out to trace the shell of her ear, rounded, like his own. She also has his eyes, though Thorin knows they may well change color. Talaitha's did, she said, from dark blue to green.

Ara makes a sound that resembles a sigh and closes a hand around the ear that Thorin just touched. His smile widens.

"What if Dáin incites them?" Talaitha asks. "I doubt his bitterness was stripped away along with his title."

"Then he and those who choose to join him will be banished." He cups Talaitha's cheek, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "I will not allow harm to befall you or our child." And from the fleeting cold glint in his eyes, Talaitha knows that, if required, he would resort to more than mere banishment to ensure their safety.

"Yes, of course," she replies. "But I'm more concerned that the dissent will build and threaten your reign and later, Ara's."

He sighs and drops his hand. That possibility had worried him, too.

"Dwarves are like the stone they work, hard-headed and slow to change," Thorin explains. He is oblivious to Talaitha's pointed glance, or he just ignores it. "Until they accept the new law, there may be protests, at least in the council chambers."

Ara releases Talaitha's nipple and begins to squirm, apparently full and tired of being cradled. A line of milky drool drips from her mouth, which Talaitha wipes away. She's about to place her against her chest to burp her, when Thorin drapes the cloth over his shoulder instead.

"You rest," he says, kissing her forehead while taking Ara.

Talaitha lies down, facing Thorin, watching as he gently pats Ara's back. She's thrown up on him before, the vomit dripping all the way down his tunic, but after his initial surprise, he was quick to comfort Ara and to clean himself up. Since then, he is a bit more wary of her post-meal, despite Talaitha's amused assurance that it would inevitably happen again. And it had, many times.

"You've taken rather well to fatherhood," she remarks fondly. "Not all fathers do. I've known some who absolutely refused to help."

Thorin snorts, and Ara's eyes open at the sound. She stares at him, perhaps wondering what that noise was, then grabs his nose.

"Among men, I suppose?" Talaitha nods, grinning as Thorin tries to coax Ara into relinquishing his nose. "Dwarf fathers may not be present for the birth, but they actively participate in parenting."

" _You_ were present for the birth," Talaitha reminds him. "Dís said you were with Fíli and Kíli nearly as much as she was."

"Aye, I was lucky to have them," he replies, smiling softly. "I loved them the moment I saw them. Fíli, with his bright, curious eyes, and Kíli, with his fondness for falling asleep on my chest." Ara reaches for his nose again, and Thorin leans in, delighting in her happy gurgles. "And this one with her fascination with my nose."

"Well, it's certainly large enough," Talaitha teases and giggles when he shoots her a mock-glare. "I've always thought you had a regal nose, fit for a king."

His brow arches, the movement attracting Ara's attention. He does it again, and she puts her hand on his eyebrow, feeling it rise beneath her palm. Her lips part, making baby noises, and Thorin wonders what she's thinking.

"I think she's trying to figure out what purpose eyebrows have," Talaitha says. "Because the other day while I spoke to her, she did the same thing with my mouth. And then she made babbling noises, touched her own lips, and gurgled."

Ara yawns, her eyelids drooping sleepily, so Thorin rests her in the crook of his arm and adjusts the blanket around her.

"She never did that to me," Thorin replies in a hushed tone. "But I talk less than you do." He slides down carefully in the bed, half-lying and half-sitting.

Talaitha snuggles into his side, kissing a sliver of exposed skin between his breeches and his shirt. Thorin tangles his free hand in her curls, massaging her scalp, as her eyes flutter closed.

"You talk less than anyone I know," she murmurs contentedly. "Except perhaps Legolas and Thranduil. Now _they_ are truly reticent."

"Elves," Thorin mutters sulkily. "They outdo me in everything." He feels Talaitha smirk against his side and knows she means mischief.

"Not in everything."

A hand snakes up his thigh, questing fingers finding the slight bulge between his legs. She neither squeezes nor strokes, merely touches it in feather-light brushes of fingertips. Her ministrations are gentle and relaxing, while still sending warm tendrils of pleasure through his body.

"How much longer?"

The question is vague, but Talaitha understands.

"Another week or so," she replies, her hand moving up to his belly, where it settles comfortably. "But that only applies to me."

He shifts Ara gently, resting her onto his chest, and scoots down so that he's lying partly under the covers, with Talaitha shifting so that her head is pillowed upon his stomach. She kisses the soles of Ara's feet, before nuzzling into his belly.

"I will wait for you," he says, craning his neck to look down at her. He can only see the top of her head over Ara, the red curls fanning out on his abdomen. "It would not be fair otherwise."

"That's sweet, but you don't have to."

She yawns, and Thorin feels the warmth of her breath through his shirt. He leans to the side, careful not to jostle Ara or Talaitha, and pulls a blanket over his wife.

"I want to." With one hand lightly resting on Ara's back and the other on Talaitha's, he is so content that soon drowsiness creeps up on him, too. "We are in this together, remember?"

Talaitha hums sleepily, her reply unintelligible.


	19. Teething

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ara begins to teethe, and after comforting her, Thorin and Talaitha enjoy a private moment. Or two. 
> 
> This chapter is rated **M**.

Cries wake Thorin up in the middle of the night. Or he thinks it's the middle of the night, from how sluggish he is in opening his eyes. It had been a long and tedious day of council meetings, and by the time he had finally made it back to their rooms, Talaitha was already asleep. He couldn't blame her, for Ara had begun teething and was particularly fussy.

He hears a groan from beside him, feels the covers pull away from him.

"S'your turn," Talaitha mumbles, rolling over onto the other side of the bed.

Thorin places his feet on the floor and rubs his eyes, before standing and stumbling into the adjoining room with a yawn. The fires have burned low, but in the dim, orange light, he sees Ara's tear-streaked face. When he takes her in his arms, he forgets about the increase in grain shipment prices and the continuing arguments with his councilors over Ara's succession. All he focuses on is soothing his daughter. He walks around the room, rubbing her back and softly singing a dwarvish lullaby his own mother had sung to him when he was a dwarfling.

Talaitha watches from the bed, a smile forming on her face, as Ara's cries gradually become whimpers. Thorin isn't always able to calm her, but when he can, it is a tender sight.

Now that Ara has momentarily forgotten about the pain in her gums, she splays her hands on Thorin's chest, while opening and closing her mouth. He joins Talaitha in bed, waiting until she has adjusted her dressing gown to give Ara to her.

"At least she still wants to nurse," Thorin remarks. He maneuvers himself behind Talaitha, so that she is sitting between his legs. "When Fíli started teething, he would only nurse if Dís coaxed him into it. Those first few months were a trying time for us all."

"Yes, we're lucky," Talaitha says, leaning back against his chest. Ara has latched onto her left breast and is suckling noisily. "She's particularly hungry tonight."

Thorin's not surprised, since Ara now only wakes up once or twice a night to nurse. She is also quite busy during the day, curious about her surroundings and wanting to stand and bounce on the thighs of whoever is holding her. Kíli makes her dance, which never fails to entertain Ara. Every time she sees her cousin, she squirms until she is handed to him.

For all her energy, though, she will not crawl. According to Talaitha, that's not unusual, especially because she tries to pull herself up while holding onto the bedpost or to a chair leg. She'll try and try, almost succeeding, before plopping back down and cooing up at Thorin and Talaitha with wide eyes, as though they have the answer for why she cannot yet stand like they can. Then they'll pick her up and stand her on their lap, holding her as she giggles and stomps her little feet.

After about ten minutes, Ara's sucks grow weaker and less frequent, until she finally pulls away. She looks up at Talaitha, babbling to her in her baby language.

"We had an eventful day, didn't we, Ara? Should we tell Daddy what we did today?" Talaitha asks, bending down to nuzzle Ara's belly. Ara laughs and grasps Talaitha's curls. "We played outside this morning with Szélvész and Nifha, and she helped me brush Szélvész's mane."

Ara gurgles, as though in agreement, and tries to chew on Talaitha's hair. She brushes her curls over her shoulder and offers Ara her finger instead. While she mouths at it, Talaitha gently rubs her fingertip over her gums, feeling the slight protuberance of a growing bottom incisor.

"And how did that go?" Thorin inquires, brow arched in amusement.

"As well as can be expected. She's not coordinated enough yet to pull the brush through Szélvész's mane, so she ended up tapping her with it instead." Thorin chuckles and leans forward to kiss Ara's forehead. "Szélvész didn't even notice."

"I'm sure she is accustomed to the attentions of children," he says, remembering how gentle the mare is around dwarflings and human kids.

Talaitha laughs. "She practically preens under their attention."

Ara makes _s_ sounds around Talaitha's finger, drooling all over the digit and down her chin. Thorin grabs the cloth they keep beside the bed and wipes it away.

"Was she trying to say Szélvész's name?" he asks.

"I don't think so," Talaitha replies. "But she's been mimicking sounds she hears often. The other day, I was talking about Kíli and Fíli, and I heard 'kiki' and 'fifi' interspersed with her usual babbles."

Ara pushes away Talaitha's finger and holds her hand out towards Thorin.

"Ma!"

" _That's_ Mama," he corrects, pointing to Talaitha. "I'm Dada."

"Ma!"

Thorin sighs and rests his chin on Talaitha's shoulder, lightly pinching her side when she giggles at Ara's name for him.

"I suppose it could be worse," he muses. "Kíli used to call me 'Ri' before he could say my name."

"I'm not sure she's really associating the sounds to their owners yet," Talaitha says. "I think she's just repeating the ones she hears the most, because we've been spending time with Rín's son, Skol, who is just learning how to talk."

Talaitha shifts Ara, who snuggles against her mother's chest. Thorin is silent, knowing that Ara is minutes away from falling asleep, comforted by the familiar sound of Talaitha's heartbeat. When he cannot calm Ara with his lullabies, Talaitha rests her onto her chest and rubs her back, until her crying stops. He has seen it countless times by now, but the sight still amazes him.

"She's asleep," Talaitha whispers, getting out of bed cautiously to place Ara in her crib. She kisses her cheeks and brushes her fingers through her short, red hair and returns to Thorin.

"I'm wide awake now," she remarks, settling between his legs again.

"Is that so?" Thorin asks and snakes a hand up her belly. "Fortunately, I know an excellent way to make you tired."

She closes her eyes, as he gently kneads her breasts through the thin dressing gown, careful to avoid her nipples. Now that she's breastfeeding, it doesn't take much stimulation to make her lactate. A fact that Thorin rather quickly and messily discovered.

He pulls aside the dressing gown to kiss the slope of her shoulder, working his way slowly up her neck. He takes her earlobe between his teeth, her answering shiver sending a pang of arousal to his groin. His hands slip beneath the neck of her robe, massaging her full, naked breasts, and he groans quietly in her ear when she pushes back against his growing erection.

"There _are_ other ways to tire me out, you know," Talaitha says, her voice tinged with desire.

"Yes, there are," Thorin murmurs huskily. "But this way is so much more enjoyable."

One hand leaves her breast to trail down her stomach, caressing the soft, smooth skin. As it nears her core, her thighs instinctively part. Questing fingers find her sex to cup it and stroke it. She is wet and slick, and Thorin's cock twitches against her backside in anticipation.

Talaitha reaches a hand behind her, shifting her body to palm his erection through his braies. The movement also causes one of Thorin's fingers to slip inside her, and her breath hitches when his thumb begins to circle her clit.

His legs straighten to allow hers to bend at the knees. Coaxing them further apart to grant him easier access to her core, Thorin pushes another finger inside, crooking it slightly to stroke over her pleasure point. Her hand slips beneath the waistband of his braies to wrap around his cock. He bucks up into her touch when her thumb brushes over the head and spreads the fluid oozing at the tip.

They continue their ministrations upon each other, their arousal building and pooling and threatening to peak. With a grunt, he stops her hand on his cock and pulls his fingers from her, feeling the tension of her impending climax dissipate.

"Turn around," he instructs, his voice deeper and rougher than usual.

She obeys, facing him, knees on either side of his hips. The tie of her dressing gown has loosened, exposing slivers of pale skin to his dark eyes. He undoes the knot at her waist and pushes the garment from her body, tossing it to the foot of the bed. She is completely bare, her breasts hanging heavy and her form once again what it was pre-pregnancy. Not that he hadn't loved her fuller figure, but as he moves his hands over her curves, he is glad for her familiar shape. When he reaches her breasts, he cups them and brushes feather-light circles around her nipples. He traces the underside, the swell, and the valley between. He is mesmerized by them, that they can nourish their child, while also giving Talaitha pleasure.

"You are remarkable," he murmurs and kisses the hollow of her throat. His lips trail along her collarbone, as she grinds against him.

"Women are," she replies. Her fingers pull on the waistband of his braies. "Off."

He obliges, and they join Talaitha's dressing gown at the end of the bed. Now that there is no longer a barrier between their bodies, his erection rubs against her slick folds, catching at her entrance with every other pass. He kisses her, tongue tracing her bottom lip, until her mouth opens to grant it entry. She grips the base of his cock and positions herself above it, breaking their kiss to look at him. With his hands on her hips, she sinks down onto him, slowly taking him to the hilt and gasping as he stretches her. He groans at the tight, wet heat. No matter how many times he has felt it, the sensation still manages to steal the air from his lungs.

His breath is hot on her shoulder when she begins to move above of him.

"How did I endure six weeks without this?"

"Because we had little time for sex," Talaitha replies. Her head tips back at the feel of his length stroking her walls. "But you asked that the last time, too."

Their movements are slow, almost languid, with deep, long thrusts. He allows her to set the pace, his hands on her hips, helping her but not guiding her.

"And I may ask it again," he teases and nips her neck. She clenches around him, making him groan and buck up into her. Her answering moan threatens to undo his control. "Mahal, Talaitha," he breathes.

She grins and squeezes him again, enjoying the way his hold on her hips tightens. Her pace quickens. His hands slip to her buttocks, gripping them, his hips thrusting up every time she sinks down onto him. He can sense she is close, her eyes closing, her pants echoing his own, her clit rubbing against the thatch of hair between his thighs. Her body tenses, then bows forward, and she falls over the edge, her cry muffled in the crook of his neck. After a few more shallow thrusts, Thorin follows with a grunt.

In the afterglow, he holds her against him, her heart beating as rapidly as his own and her face still buried in his neck. He kisses her shoulder and traces random designs on her back, as their sweat-slicked skin cools.

"We managed not to wake her this time," Thorin says.

Talaitha snorts. "I still maintain it was the discomfort in her gums that woke her."

"Of course," he murmurs.

A warm, sated drowsiness overtakes him, and he scoots down in the bed, bringing Talaitha with him. She snuggles into his chest, sighing contentedly, as he kisses the top of her head.

"Good night, beloved."


	20. Sloppy Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ara and Thorin are adorable. Bilbo makes an appearance, as well. 
> 
> This is my favorite chapter ever.

Thorin sighs as small chunks of boiled potato plop into his lap. Ara has reached that age when she insists on feeding herself, grabbing the spoon from him and repeating "me, me" until he relents. That would be well and good, if she knew how to use a spoon. But every time she feeds herself, Thorin ends up with more of the food on him than what reaches her stomach.

"Thank you, Ara," he says, cleaning off his thighs. "My lap _was_ hungry."

The little girl giggles and stuffs a piece of potato into her mouth, having wisely abandoned the spoon in favor of her less clumsy fingers. Ara has enough teeth now to chew most foods, including tender meat, but her favorites are potatoes, cooked carrots, mashed sweet potatoes, lángos, tomatoes, and scrambled eggs with cheese and scallions. The last food is courtesy of Bilbo, who made it for her on the second morning of his visit.

Ara's face breaks into a grin, and she claps her potato-covered hands excitedly.

"Bilbo! Bilbo!"

Thorin looks up, as the hobbit walks through the door of the kitchen.

"And how is my pretty princess today?" Bilbo asks, kissing her forehead.

"Hungwy," Ara replies seriously. She points to the bowl in front of her. "'Tatoes."

"It looks like your daddy was hungry, too," Bilbo remarks, grinning at the grease stains on Thorin's breeches. "In fact, I think he is _still_ hungry."

Ara picks up a few potato chunks and offers them to Thorin. He shoots Bilbo a mock-glare but dutifully allows his daughter to feed him. The potatoes are cold, and he's sure some of them are partly chewed, but he is helpless to resist her.

"Mmm, yummy," he says, feigning enthusiasm, his heart warming at her happy smile. "I think Uncle Bilbo wants some, too."

Bilbo blanches. "Thank you, but I've actually just eaten. Elevensies, you know."

"'Vensies," Ara repeats. "'Tatoes for Bilbo."

Thorin watches, amused, as the hobbit acquiesces, leaning forward to accept the handful of potatoes Ara feeds him. He chews as little as possible and swallows.

"Delicious!"

"More?" Ara asks.

Bilbo hesitates, so Thorin decides to intervene.

"If you feed Bilbo and me all your food, what will you eat?" He picks up the spoon and scoops some of the potato onto it, guiding it towards Ara's mouth. "My little princess must be strong so she can explore the mountain."

"'Splore!" she shouts, between mouthfuls of potato.

"That's right. Bilbo and I will show you glittering caves and a bathtub _so_ big that a hundred Bomburs could fit into it."

Ara's eyes grow wide. "Hundwed Bombs?"

Bilbo coughs, trying to conceal his chuckle.

"That's how she says Bombur's name," Thorin explains. He wipes Ara's face and hands, then helps her drink water from his cup, while Bilbo cleans the tabletop, bowl, and spoon. "Are we ready?"

Ara nods vigorously. "'Splore, Dada!"

"Then off we go." Thorin picks her up and kisses the top of her head. "Come, Master Baggins. I do not think you have seen the hot springs either."

"No, I don't believe I have," says Bilbo, smiling fondly. If someone had told him three years ago that Thorin Oakenshield would be such a loving father, he would have accused them of smoking too much Old Tobey. But as he listens to the delighted squeals when his friend tickles Ara's belly, he is struck more than ever by how utterly happy Thorin is.

#

Thorin is bathing Ara when Talaitha enters their rooms, her arms overflowing with papers. It had been her turn today to sit in on the council, as they were discussing plans to expand the healing wing, something she knew far more about than he did. Envoys from Rohan had also returned to sign a trade agreement for horses in exchange for gemstones and metals. Thorin had offered to meet the men from Rohan, but she'd insisted a little time with adults would do her good, jesting that her vocabulary was steadily worsening. But Thorin suspected she just wanted a day during which her clothes and hair remained clear of food.

"Mama!" Ara exclaims, fidgeting excitedly and splashing Thorin with water.

"Hello, my darling." Talaitha bends down to kiss Ara's wet nose, smiling when her daughter plants a sloppy kiss on her cheek. "Did you have fun with Daddy?"

"Yes, lotsa fun." Ara squirms in Thorin's arms, as he tries to tip her back carefully to wash her hair.

He gives up on bathing her for the moment and makes room for Talaitha to sit beside the tub.

"Why don't you tell Mama what we did today?"

"We 'splored. Sparkles and bath for hundwed Bombs." Ara picks up the washcloth and squeezes the water out of it, dunking it under and doing it again. "Bilbo, too."

Talaitha arches a brow at her husband. "You took her to the hot springs, didn't you?"

"How did you manage to get that from 'bath for hundred Bombs'?" he asks, surprised.

"I _did_ carry her for ten and a half months." She smoothes Ara's red hair, gently combing her fingers through the tangles. "Besides, there's only one place in Erebor that sparkles and has enough water for a hundred Bomburs."

"Spwings," Ara says. "Bilbo called spwings."

"Yes, the big water is called a spring, and our hot water comes from it," Talaitha says, kissing Ara's cheek. "My clever princess."

"It is reassuring to know that she inherited your intelligence," Thorin remarks dryly. Talaitha grins.

"But Daddy's clever, too, isn't he, Ara?"

The little girl nods. "Uses spoon."

Thorin snorts.

"Yes, he can use a spoon," Talaitha agrees, trying not to laugh. "But he also made Erebor beautiful again after the big, bad dragon ruined it. What is the dragon's name, Ara?"

"Smaaaaug," the toddler answers, enunciating the word.

It's one of her favorite stories, that of Smaug stealing Erebor, but only when Bofur tells it, because he pretends to be the dragon. He roars and breathes "fire" and runs around with his arms outstretched to imitate flying. Thorin and Talaitha had initially been concerned that the tale would frighten Ara, but she is more amused and fascinated by it than anything. And Thorin supposes it is an effective way for her to learn about Erebor's history, at least until she is old enough to hear Thorin's or Balin's account of the attack.

"Very good," Thorin praises. "But do you know what the cleverest thing I have ever done is?"

Ara stops wringing out the washcloth and stares up at her father. "What?"

"Fall in love with your mama." Thorin smiles at Ara. "Do you know why?"

The little girl shakes her head, and even Talaitha is curious.

"Because when I fell in love with your mama, she gave me you." He picks up Ara and nuzzles her shoulder, delighting in her giggles. "My precious princess."

Talaitha sniffs, and Thorin knows she is blinking back tears before their daughter could glimpse them.

"Daddy's quite the charmer," she says and squeezes Thorin's thigh in affection. "Shall we give him kisses?"

Ara nods and reaches for Thorin. "Kisses, Dada."

"I could never say no to kisses from my girls."

He closes his eyes and laughs, as Ara and Talaitha shower his face with kisses. Ara's are more saliva than lips, but his heart swells with each one. By the time they are done, his tunic is damp from Ara's body and the water is at risk of being lukewarm. He sits her in the tub again, picking up the washcloth and soap.

"Now, let's finish your bath so that Mama can tell you a bedtime story."

When Talaitha walks into their bedroom after putting Ara to sleep, Thorin sets down the trade agreement with Rohan and glances at the clock, which was a gift from Bilbo from the Shire.

"Were you really in there for nearly 45 minutes?" he asks, incredulous.

"Was it only 45 minutes?" Talaitha settles into Thorin's lap and opens one of the books on the desk. It is the first draft of Ori's account of the quest. She had begun reading it last night but had stopped when Ara awoke with a nightmare. "It seems like longer. What did she eat today that gave her so much energy? I had to tell her three stories before she would fall asleep."

"Bilbo's scrambled eggs, potatoes, and an apple tart." Thorin rests his chin on her shoulder and reads along with her. "But she took an extra long nap after we explored the hot spring cave. I think the heat and humidity made her drowsy."

Talaitha laughs. "We should take her there whenever she can't sleep."

"Perhaps, but sooner or later, she will catch on," he points out. "After all, her mother is the cleverest person I know."

"Not to mention," Talaitha smirks, "Her father is quite wary of ploys."

Thorin kisses below her ear. "Aye, but I seem to be blind to yours."

"Only because you _choose_ to be," she argues. "Don't think I am oblivious to the twinkle in your eyes when you humor me. Like when I not-so-secretly invited Legolas and Thranduil to Ara's announcement ceremony."

"Or when you insisted Mimaskad continue to sleep in our chambers because Ara likes him."

"That was true!" Talaitha protests. "She _does_ like him. And he likes her."

Thorin arches a brow. "Yes, but when you persuaded me, Ara was two days old and indifferent to the cat."

"Details," she mutters and turns the page sulkily. Thorin chuckles softly, enjoying their light-hearted banter. Life had indeed become more hectic since Ara's birth, but both he and Talaitha had striven to make a little time for each other every day. Often that comes with a price--usually sleep--, but their moments together are important.

"I can't believe I missed your mishap with the trolls," Talaitha laments. "Seeing you stuffed into a burlap sack is truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience."

"I doubt you would have been as amused then," Thorin remarks. "For _you_ would have been stuffed into a burlap sack, too."

"True, but I would have laughed afterwards." She looks up from the book, considering. " _Way_ afterwards, or else you'd have probably dismissed me from the quest."

"Perhaps not _._ I was fond of you the moment I met you."

She turns to him, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "You are being especially sweet today. Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"No," she replies. "But usually your affection is in the form of actions, not words."

"It was a good day," he shrugs, then leans forward to whisper in her ear. "But I would happily show my affection through actions, as well."

"Oh?" Talaitha shivers, as his warm breath ghosts across her skin. She wraps an arm around the back of his neck, holding him close.

"Aye. Through some very _pleasurable_ actions," Thorin breathes and kisses along her jaw. "Ones that involve a certain slick part of your anatomy."

"And no doubt a certain hard part of yours," she retorts, grinding down against his pelvis. He swallows a groan and hoists her into his arms.

"Shall we, then, my queen?"


	21. The Princess and the Pony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ara gets a pony, with some very cute results.

Ara had grown into a precocious child of five, managing to charm even the old dwarves who'd opposed her accession as heir to the throne. She was curious, constantly asking questions, and observant when her peers were not. Day after day, Thorin watches her with a proud gleam in his eyes, doting upon her every chance he gets. He even indulges her fascination with elves, allowing her to journey to Mirkwood with Talaitha. True, he listens to her ramblings about Legolas and Tauriel and the young _elleths_ who fawn over her with less enthusiasm, but he listens, occasionally asking questions and poking fun at the elves. As long as he can hold her in his lap, Thorin is content to listen to anything. Ara, for her part, takes her father's dislike of the elves in stride, understanding vaguely that they had only recently begun cooperating.

"Daddy, you know that I love you more than the elves, right?" she'd said one day, looking up at him from his lap. Her blue eyes, so like his own, had held a hint of uncertainty.

"Of course I do, my princess," he'd assured and kissed her nose. The girl had smiled, evidently satisfied, and had begun regaling him with an adventure she'd gone on with Fíli and Kíli.

Now Thorin watches as Ara attempts to coax her pony out of the stall. The girl had inherited Talaitha's aptitude for animals, but this is her first time meeting her new pony. Thorin is glad she is being cautious.

"Here," he says, pouring a small portion of oats into her hand. "Offer your pony these, but be careful. Hold your hand outstretched with the palm flat so she cannot accidentally nip you."

Ara does, and the pony slowly approaches her. The girl holds absolutely still, not even breathing, to Thorin's amusement, while the pony sniffs the oats, then carefully eats them.

"I think you can try petting her," Thorin says. The pony looks content, eyes closed and ears alert.

His daughter glances at him, and he nods encouragingly, reaching out a hand to stroke the pony's forehead.

"Just like you pet Szélvész."

"But Szélvész is Momma's horse," Ara protests quietly.

"And this is _your_ pony."

The little filly nickers softly and pushes her nose into Ara's hand to lick up the last of the oats.

Ara's eyes grow wide, and she grins. "She licked me!"

"See?" Thorin says, smiling at his daughter's excitement. "She likes you."

She tentatively rests her hand on the pony's forehead, atop the white blaze. When the pony doesn't object, Ara begins to stroke the soft fur, giggling in delight as the pony nuzzles her shoulder.

"I like this better than when Szélvész nuzzles my hair," Ara says. Her confidence grows, and she wraps her arms around the pony's neck, hugging her. "I think she chews on my hair."

Thorin tries not to laugh. "Your hair is the only part of you that Szélvész can easily reach."

Ara sighs. "I know." She lets go of the pony and gets another handful of oats. "I like Szélvész, but she's too big for me. Aranyka is the perfect size."

"You named her already?" Thorin asks, surprised.

"Yes." Ara begins braiding Aranyka's mane. The pony stands patiently, chomping on the last mouthful of oats. "I think it's a good name, because she's golden."

"Aye, a very fitting name," Thorin smiles. He sees Ara struggling to tie off the end of the braid and helps her. "You do the next one."

Her little fingers are still clumsy, but she manages to secure the second braid.

"I did it!"

Aranyka snorts, less appreciative of Ara's achievement.

"Excellent!" Thorin bends down to kiss her forehead. "Now you can braid all of Aranyka's mane and tail, if you want to."

"No, Daddy," she says critically. "That would be too much. I want her hair to fly in the wind like Szélvész's."

"I thought I heard a little horsewoman's voice."

Talaitha enters the stables, and Ara runs to her.

"Momma! Look at what I did to Aranyka."

Talaitha shares an amused glance with Thorin but marvels at the two braids in the pony's mane.

"Did you do them all by yourself?"

"Almost," she says proudly. "Daddy helped with the first one, because I couldn't tie it."

"But she did the second one," Thorin adds.

"Well, it's my lucky day, then," says Talaitha, scooping Ara into her arms. "I spent so much time in the greenhouses with the plants that some of my braids came undone. I thought I would have to ask Daddy to fix them, but his hands are so big."

Thorin's lips twitch.

"I can do it!" Ara cries, reaching for her mother's messy hair. Talaitha winces at the pull.

"Perhaps we should wait until we're inside and seated. Less jostling that way."

"Okay, Momma."

When they reach their chambers, Talaitha takes Ara's shoes off and sets her down on the bed. She sits on the edge, with the little girl standing behind her. While Ara braids her hair, she tells Thorin about her day.

"The Easterlings agreed to our terms regarding the healing plants," she says. "They'll begin transporting them next week."

One of the recent additions to Erebor is a series of massive greenhouses, where food and medicinal plants grow. Talaitha hadn't liked the fact that the dwarves were reliant upon other races for fruits and vegetables, so she'd convinced Thorin to build the greenhouses. And since they were already growing food plants, she thought Erebor would benefit from trade of medicinal plants, as well.

Truthfully, Thorin hadn't put up much of a fight. He realized by now that Talaitha's ideas were generally good and usually went along with them. This one, too, had paid off, for the Easterlings are the third people to sign a trade agreement for the healing plants.

"I wonder if we can get the elvenking to trade, as well," Thorin murmurs, only half in jest. Talaitha laughs.

"His name is Thranduil, Daddy," Ara scolds. "You wouldn't like it if he called you the dwarfen king either."

"Dwarven king, darling," Talaitha corrects. "Daddy and Thranduil have an understanding."

"So will Thranduil call me dwarven princess?"

"No," says Thorin, holding back a smile. "For you are only half dwarf. But he may call you dwarven-szelemér princess."

Ara scrunches up her face. "I don't like that."

"Dwarven-fairy princess, then?"

"No."

"What about dwairy princess?"

Ara laughs. "That's even worse!"

Talaitha cocks an eyebrow at Thorin. "Daddy's just joking. Thranduil and everyone else will call you by your name."

"Or precious princess," Ara remarks. "I like it when Daddy calls me that."

Thorin picks up Ara and nuzzles her cheek. "As you wish, my precious princess."

Ara giggles, rubbing her face against Thorin's scratchy beard. "Can I call Thranduil Thrandy?"

Her parents' eyes widen in alarm.

"No!"


	22. A Wet Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole gang engages in some watery fun.

Kíli stares up at the redheaded girl stood upon the branch. She's looking out over the surrounding landscape, her keen eyes spotting something of interest. She grins and calls down to her cousin.

"Fee's coming."

"Finally," Kíli mutters. "I thought we'd have to wait all day for him."

"I think he was with Nifha," says Ara, sitting down. She swings her legs back and forth and tilts her head up into the breeze. "It's hot today."

"That's because it's summer." But it's a particularly hot summer, even for dwarves, who are generally more resistant to the heat and cold. "Shouldn't you like that it's hot? Your momma does."

Ara glances down at him and scoffs indignantly. "So? I'm my own person."

Kíli laughs. "Of course you are," he assures. "I just meant that fairies prefer hot weather to cold. But then I remembered that you're also half dwarf, and we like the cold."

"I don't," she replies, crinkling her nose. "Well, not the _very_ cold, like Daddy. He went outside in the middle of winter in only his tunic!"

"He's always done that," Kíli smiles. "And when Fíli and I were kids, we'd try to copy him, until Mother caught us and made us put our coats on."

Ara giggles. "Daddy and Auntie say you and Fee got into all sorts of trouble." Careful not to snag her tunic on the branches, she climbs from the tree into Kíli's waiting arms. He plucks a twig from her hair and sets her down on the ground. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome, little princess." Kili spots his brother cresting the hill and rolls his eyes. "Took you long enough."

"Fee!" Ara cries, running towards the blond dwarf, who picks her up and hugs her. "Can we start our adventure now? I want to get into all sorts of trouble, like you and Kee did as dwarflings."

Fíli's lips twitch, as he regards his cousin with mock gravity. "Your parents would have our heads if we allowed that." He puts Ara on the ground and follows her and Kíli to the other side of the hill.

Kíli nods. "Uncle's already warned us...how many times, Fee?"

"Seems like hundreds."

"Right," agrees Kíli. "Hundreds of times not to be a 'bad influence.'"

Ara places her hands on her hips, pouting cutely. "But Dwalin said that Daddy wasn't always as serious as he is now. And I know Dwalin had more to tell, because he winked at me."

The brothers share a smirk.

"Aye, Thorin and Dwalin grew up together, so if anyone would know what Uncle got up to, it's Dwalin," Fíli says.

"And Balin," Kíli adds. Ara looks up at him hopefully. "But we still can't get into trouble."

"Fine," she sighs. Then she sees the twinkle in Kíli's eyes. "You're thinking something," Ara says suspiciously. "Tell me."

Fíli, too, notices Kíli's mischievous expression. "Kee..."

"I know something fun we can do," Kíli says and crouches down to Ara's height. "Can you swim, little princess?"

"Of course I can," Ara replies, with a roll of her eyes. "Who can't?"

"You'd be surprised how many people can't," says Kíli dryly.

"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?" Fíli asks, brows raised in interest.

The dark-haired brother winks. "I am."

"We're not going to swim in the river, are we?" Ara questions uncertainly.

"No." Kíli takes the girl's left hand, while Fíli takes the right. "It's _much_ better than that."

Ara eyes him dubiously but allows her cousins to lead her down the hill and to the eastern side of the mountain, where there is a forest. These woods are new to her, and she gazes up at the trees, at the sunlight peeking in through the tops. They pass an offshoot of the river, which disappears into a thick copse of trees, before they stop at a lake.

But it's the small waterfall feeding it that commands Ara's attention.

"Wow," she breathes, dropping her cousins' hands to move closer. "It's like a place from Momma's stories."

Kíli grins. "Fancy a swim?"

"Yes!" the little girl exclaims. She removes her tunic, breeches, boots, and socks, so that she's clad only in her thin undershirt and smallclothes, and the brothers similarly undress.

"Race you in!"

Ara takes off running and leaps into the water, only barely beating Kíli, who had given her a slight head start. She swims beneath the waterfall, enjoying the novel experience. The three of them play games, with Ara jumping off her cousins' shoulders and riding on one of their backs, as they race each other from one end of the small lake to the other.

Their adventure becomes even more thrilling when Kíli gets another idea.

"How brave are you, Ara?"

"I don't know," she answers, with a shrug. She's grown tired of treading water and is holding onto Fíli's arm instead. "Not brave enough to fight an orc."

Fíli and Kíli laugh.

"You won't have to fight an orc, I promise," Kíli assures. "But what about jumping off the top of the waterfall?"

His brother shoots him a warning glance, which, of course, is ignored.

Ara eyes the waterfall, considering. "Will you go first?"

Kíli nods. "Stay with Fíli." He swims to the shore and climbs the rocks to the top of the waterfall. Grinning at Ara, he jumps. The little girl watches nervously, as her cousin disappears below the surface with a splash.

Seconds later, his brown head pops up, and he's laughing.

"That was _amazing_!"

Ara, reassured, lets go of Fíli's arm and joins Kíli.

"It didn't hurt when you hit the water?"

"Not at all," Kíli says. "Want to try it?"

Ara nods enthusiastically and is out of the water before Fíli can tell her to be careful. She climbs the slope with less certainty, but it's gradual and smooth enough that she easily keeps her footing. At the top, Ara takes a deep breath and jumps, resisting the urge to scream.

She surfaces more quickly than Kíli did, as her lighter frame prevents her from sinking too deep. She grins.

"That was the funnest thing I've ever done!" Her excitement makes her voice higher and louder. "I want to do it again and again and again."

Kíli smirks smugly at his brother, who sighs but smiles.

"It's fortunate, then, that we have all day."

#

The first thing Thorin notices when he enters his chambers is the faint sound of splashing. He looks around the bedroom, then peeks into Ara's room, but she's not there, and neither is the toy bow Bofur had carved for her. He kicks off his boots at the door, the sound of the metal toecaps alerting whoever is in the washroom.

"I'm in here, Thorin."

Talaitha. Of course.

The sight that greets him at the doorway of the bathroom sends a rush of blood to his groin. The water in the large, marble bathtub is clear and free of bubbles, giving him an excellent view of her supple figure. She dunks her head under, and when she comes back up, he stares at the rivulets of water trailing over her breasts.

"You're finished early," she remarks. He looks up, sees her coy smile. "Care to join me?"

Thorin's body says yes, but he hesitates.

"Where's Ara?"

"Fíli and Kíli thought I could use a break and took her for the day," she replies. As Thorin draws nearer, she flicks water at him. "Will you join me or not?"

As answer, he undresses, leaving his clothes in a heap by the tub, and slips into the warm water. Talaitha settles between his legs and rests her head on his shoulder. As Thorin gently laps water onto her chest, his fingers occasionally graze her breasts. Neither speaks for a long while, content to be with the other in a rare moment of peace and privacy. They love Ara, of course, but sometimes that child's energy and inquisitive nature are tiring. Additionally, because they share official duties, they are king and queen, alongside being active parents.

"For the next child, perhaps we should consider employing a nanny," Thorin muses. He kisses her cheek but frowns when she cranes her neck to look back at him.

"Definitely not," she says tersely. "I won't have someone else raising my child. I know royals and even nobles all have nannies, but we're not like them." Talaitha pauses, scowling. " _I'm_ not like them."

"Very well. It was merely an idea." She settles back against his chest again, and he sighs. "Mother died giving birth to Dís, so Father had little choice but to get a nanny for us," Thorin says. "But you are right, of course. I would not want anyone else raising our child either."

Talaitha tilts her head back to kiss his chin, the first part of his face she could easily reach.

"Good, because I think we've done well with Ara."

"Very well," nods Thorin. "She amazes me every day. She learned Khuzdul effortlessly, and I know she's fluent in Szila, from how much you two chat with each other." He taps her nose affectionately. "I feel rather left out."

"You and Ara have conversations in Khuzdul," she reminds him.

"Yes, but you understand bits and pieces." She smiles guiltily, and he taps her nose again. " _More_ than bits and pieces."

Talaitha huffs. "I keep offering to teach you."

"True," Thorin accedes. "But I'm an old dwarf, beloved. My mind is not what it used to be."

Talaitha snorts, bringing a smile to his lips. "You're just lazy, is all."

"Perhaps," he murmurs, nosing below her ear. "But I am certainly not too lazy to take advantage of an entire day alone with my wife." Thorin leisurely kisses her neck, while his hands slowly part her legs.

"Mmm, an excellent point," she responds, both verbally and physically to his touch. "And I'm in my most fertile period, so who knows?"

Thorin strokes her stomach on his way up to her breasts. "I confess I would very much like to see you swollen with child again." His voice is low and sensuous in her ear. She shivers against him, the sensation causing his half-hard cock to twitch in interest.

"I don't," she mutters, and Thorin chuckles.

He distracts her from potential further complaints by cupping her breasts and kneading the soft flesh, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. She arches her back, pushing her chest into his hands, and sighs. His cock throbs against her cleft, fully hard and already leaking a clear fluid. When Talaitha presses down onto him, he groans and squeezes her breasts, pulling a surprised gasp from her lips.

"Teasing comes with consequences," he warns and squeezes her breasts again for good measure. In retaliation, Talaitha snakes a hand behind her to grip his erection tightly at the base. He swallows a curse.

"Devious minx," Thorin growls. He imagines she is smirking, thinking she has the upper hand. But he can be devious, too.

Without warning, he pushes a finger into her, relieved that she's slick enough to take it without pain. Her breath hitches, and she reflexively squeezes his length, her hand now closer to the head than to the base. Thorin begins to move his finger, synchronized with her motions on his cock. She shifts to better accommodate her ministrations, and the movement changes the angle of his finger. She moans, and he can't help but slip in a second finger.

"The water's cooling," she remarks, voice just shy of breathy.

Thorin leans forward to switch on the tap, and hot water rushes into the tub. He turns her around to face him and kisses her, slowly at first, then more insistently, in a dance of nipping teeth and swirling tongues. They take their time with the foreplay, knowing they have hours to devote to each other.

As his thumb circles her clit, Talaitha's moan is muffled by his mouth. He pushes in two fingers again, stroking her walls, bringing her ever closer to the edge. But he alternates his rhythm, as she does hers, so that they only chase their release, without actually reaching it yet. The tension in their bodies builds, until Thorin can take it no longer. He shuts off the tap and repositions them so that she's lying on the sloped end of the tub, legs spread invitingly.

"I need you," she breathes, reaching for him.

Thorin kneels and enters her, pushing in all the way, then stills, breathing heavily. " _Mahal_ ," he groans. After all that preparation, his cock is almost unbearably sensitive, and he needs a moment to regain control.

But Talaitha, impatient, squeezes his buttocks and clenches around him.

A string of Khuzdul curses tumbles from his lips, and he grits his teeth to stave off a potentially premature orgasm.

"Trouble, my love?"

Her cheek frustrates him, and once he has reined in his errant desire, he pulls out, only to push back in again, his cockhead striking her bundle of nerves. She gasps sharply.

"Trouble, my love?" Thorin mocks, with a smirk. She glares at him and tugs him down for a bruising kiss that matches the ferocity of his thrusts.

He slips his hands beneath her, holding her closer, and drapes himself over her body, as her legs wrap around his waist. The pace is punishing, his stones slapping against her buttocks, their kisses hot and messy. Talaitha bucks up, meeting his movements, her clit brushing his thatch of hair with each thrust. He drives into her over and over, the tension in their bodies nearly at snapping point.

Thorin's mouth leaves hers and latches onto her right breast, licking and suckling the nipple. She moans and arches her back, prompting him to thrust even faster and harder, until she cries out, nails digging into his shoulders. That jolt of pain, combined with her erratic clenching around his length, throws him over the edge, and he spills into her heat with a hoarse shout. His spent cock twitches in the aftershocks, as he breathes heavily against her breast, her heart thudding wildly by his ear. They remain like that for minutes, descending from the heights of pleasure, the water lapping gently at their sides.

"Wow," Talaitha finally says, inhaling deeply. The bathroom, which had previously smelled of flowers, is now suffused with the scent of sex. "Thank the Valar Ara is with your nephews."

Thorin chuckles and rubs his beard along the cooling skin of her chest.

"We certainly would not have been as...vigorous, if she had been here."

"Oh, definitely not. It was disconcerting enough that night she woke up when I finished. Now it would just be mortifying if she caught us," Talaitha replies. "When Fíli and Kíli return, I'm going to attack them with kisses."

"I do plenty of helpful things for you and you never attack _me_ with kisses," remarks Thorin, frowning.

"No," she agrees. "But I have sex with you, which trumps mere kisses, I think."

Thorin smiles. "Infinitely." He nuzzles her neck, then moves off of her. "You had intended to have a bath," he says, letting the cool water drain, before filling the tub with hot water again. "Let me bathe you, beloved."

"You spoil me, Thorin," she says fondly, watching him lather up the washcloth.

"When you allow me to," he grins and begins washing her.


	23. Treason, Take Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit goes down.

It is not a long walk to Dale--an hour, at most--, and Talaitha and Ara have made the journey many times to visit Bard or to attend the markets. It's one of their monthly traditions, to go to Dale together. Sometimes Thorin would accompany them, but other times, like today, the king is indisposed, taking council with Thranduil about a troubling report from Lord Elrond.

It is just the two of them on the path, Ara's hand clasped in Talaitha's, as she regales her mother with an account of her lessons.

"Balin said I'm good at arithmetic." The little girl beams proudly. "He made me add up and average a bunch of important numbers. I think he called them the 'accounts.'"

Talaitha's eyes widen. Those are official documents that Balin had given Ara to practice on.

"I know you're good at arithmetic," Talaitha agrees. "I've never met another little girl who can work so easily with numbers. I'm very proud of you, sweetling."

"Am I better than you were?" Ara asks, looking up at her mother.

Talaitha laughs. "Much better. I preferred plants as a child. Still do."

"But I want to learn how to heal like you, too." Ara lets go of Talaitha's hand to pick some blackberries. As she eats the fruit, she is contemplative. "Can blackberries heal someone?"

"They help us fight off illnesses," Talaitha replies and selects a berry from her daughter's wicker basket. "But no, they don't really heal. They are more preventative than anything."

"And yummy," Ara adds, then makes a face. "Or sometimes sour."

"The softer ones are the sweetest," says Talaitha, with a smile. She takes out a handful from the basket and holds them out to Ara. "Try these."

Ara cautiously eats one. When the berry turns out to indeed be sweet, she eats three more. "Thank you, Momma."

Talaitha is about to reply, when a noise makes her pause. It sounds like footsteps coming up the hill, too heavy to belong to either elf or human. She is immediately wary, a feeling of inexplicable unease creeping up on her.

"Ara, get off the path," she orders. "Hide behind a bush."

The little girl knows better than to question her mother and quickly does as she is asked. She watches from between the leaves, as a group of ten dwarves crests the hill towards Talaitha. None of them are familiar to Ara, but they certainly don't look friendly. She grows nervous, afraid for her mother.

"Queen Talaitha," one of the dwarves--the leader, most likely--addresses the szelemér. "What a happy coincidence that we should stumble across you today. Where is your daughter?"

"She is not here," Talaitha replies, remaining calm, despite her alarm.

The leader smiles disingenuously. "I thought I saw her walking with you."

"Then you saw wrong, for she has lessons at this hour." Talaitha resists the reflex to glance at the bush in which Ara is hiding. "I'm on my way to Dale for a routine healing trip."

"I think not," the leader, who Talaitha thinks she has seen before, says flatly. He motions to the other dwarves. "Search the area."

"Who are you to make such an order?" Talaitha demands, infusing her voice with a commanding tone she rarely uses. "Return to Erebor, and perhaps I may forget this lapse in reason."

The dwarf laughs, and Talaitha fights the urge to punch him in his wide, bearded face.

"Oh, Your Highness, you do amuse me," he says, with a mocking bow. "I cannot return to Erebor if I did not _come_ from Erebor." He watches her closely and sees in her eyes the instant comprehension dawns. "Good. Now we understand one another."

The dwarves are still searching for Ara, who has wisely remained silent in her bush. Talaitha thinks that she may be able to incapacitate the leader while they are distracted, so she approaches him. He appears unconcerned, obviously believing her to be harmless.

"I have seen your face before," she remarks. "Tell me, what is your name?"

"That is of no consequence to you, _my_ _queen_."

His haughty tone riles Talaitha, but she is close enough now. She turns to the side, raising her leg before the dwarf even knows what is happening, and kicks him squarely in the nose. His howl of pain alerts his companions, some of whom come running to restrain her. Nevertheless, by the time two dwarves yank her away, the leader is doubled over, one hand clutching his nose and the other his groin, which had also received a nasty kick. She winces when they twist her arms behind her back.

"That was unwise, Your Highness," the leader rasps. Blood is streaming down his ugly face, and his large nose, askew, is most certainly broken. He wheezes, glaring hatefully at Talaitha.

"I beg to differ, Dwarf," she says, with a smirk. Her reaction irritates him, for he stalks towards her and grips her hair, forcing her head back to reveal her neck.

"I would cut your throat if you weren't so damned valuable," he growls and trails a bloody finger over her pulse point. "And your daughter's."

Talaitha had not forgotten about Ara, but at the mention of her name, she starts. They still had not found her, and with any luck, they _would_ not.

"Leave her out of this," she hisses, partly from pain, as the dwarf tightens his hold on her curls. "She is but a child."

"I don't make the plans," the dwarf shrugs. "I just follow them. And I have orders to bring you _and_ your daughter."

Talaitha does not ask from whom those orders originate. She knows.

"Very well, then, let's go." If the dwarves leave now, Ara can safely return to Erebor and alert Thorin. She tries to walk, but her captors pull her back.

"Not without the princess."

"I've told you," Talaitha says, exasperated. "She is not here."

But at that moment, she hears a shriek and looks over to see one of the dwarves picking up a flailing Ara. Talaitha's heart sinks.

" _Now_ we can go," the leader announces, with a sneer.

"At least allow me to walk with my daughter," Talaitha requests, seeing Ara's frightened expression. "I will not attack you again. You have my word."

The leader considers for a moment, then nods. "But if you attempt to escape, you will find yourselves in a rain of arrows."

"Duly noted," she says coldly.

The dwarves release her, and she has a second to massage her arms, before Ara is running to her, tears streaming down her face.

"Momma!"

Talaitha crouches and catches her daughter, rubbing her back and whispering reassurances into her ear.

"I'm here, my darling. I'm here." She strokes Ara's hair and kisses her wet cheeks, struggling to remain calm in the face of her daughter's distress. "I won't let them hurt you. You know that, don't you?"

Ara nods and sniffles. She buries her face in her mother's neck, while Talaitha hugs her. She is given a minute to comfort Ara, but then the leader orders them to move. Talaitha picks up the little girl, holding her close, and begins the descent down the hill. Where ever they're going, the sentries on Erebor's walls cannot see them.

#

Thorin is sitting in council with Thranduil, when Dwalin enters, looking grave. He excuses himself and follows the warrior out to a secluded alcove. The king wonders if it's one of the alcoves in which he and Talaitha have had sex. He almost smirks, but then he notices the tension in his friend's posture.

"What is it, Dwalin?" Thorin asks, growing anxious. The warrior is of a sturdy constitution, so whatever is unsettling him must be dire indeed.

"The spies you dispatched," the dwarf begins. "It's a good thing you did, because they found this." He hands Thorin a letter and watches as the king reads it.

Thorin's fists clench, crumpling the parchment. The blue of his eyes is as cold as ice and as hard as steel. "Find Nori. We will need his tracking skills. And assemble a group of twenty warriors, my nephews included." He gives his friend a measured glance, then heads quickly towards his chambers. "We meet in the entrance hall in ten minutes."

"Shall I come, too?" Dwalin asks.

"No," Thorin replies. He turns around and places a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I need you and Balin to remain here to round up the traitors."

Dwalin smiles grimly. "Aye, that we can do."

Ten minutes later, the small army sets off, with Nori leading the way. As a hunter, he is best-equipped to track the dwarves who had ambushed Ara and Talaitha. But before they can even leave the shadow of the mountain, they hit a snag.

"They didn't come from Erebor," says Nori. "The only recent tracks belong to the queen and the princess." He crouches to indicate something that vaguely resembles two pairs of footprints.

"Then we follow their prints until you see the ones that belong to their attackers," Thorin snaps impatiently. No one can blame him, though, for each of them would react the same way if their family had been kidnapped.

The tracks lead them towards Dale, as expected, and it is near a copse of blackberry shrubs that Nori stops them to examine the ground. It is hard and rocky, but he can distinguish at least five additional sets of footprints, left by people much heavier and larger than Ara and Talaitha.

When he points them out to Thorin, the king is relieved, though he cannot make out much of the faint marks. But that's why Nori is there, and Thorin is glad for it.

"They went down the hill," Nori announces. The group follows the footprints, which curve along the foot of the hill, always staying on firm ground and out of Erebor's view.

"They're clever," Kíli remarks sourly, when the tracks seem to disappear. But Nori finds them again quickly. The hunter grins.

"Not clever enough."

During their trek, Thorin is silent, except to bark out the occasional order. He is planning all the ways in which he will make Dáin suffer, for even without the written evidence, he knows that his cousin is behind the plot. He curses himself that he hadn't discovered it sooner. A wave of nausea hits him, as he imagines how afraid Ara, and perhaps even Talaitha, must be. Talaitha would keep a brave face, he knows, not only for their daughter's sake, but he also worries she may lash out and pay the consequences. Thorin is certain Dáin will not have led the ambush himself, but whoever did is undoubtedly equally vile. The thought of those dwarves touching Ara and Talaitha enrages him.

He quickens the pace. The sooner they reach Dáin's hideaway, the sooner he can kill the bastards who took his wife and daughter.

#

Talaitha sits against the cave wall, Ara in her lap, glaring at the brown-eyed dwarf approaching her.

"We meet again, fair fairy," Dáin greets sweetly. "But now you are queen. What a coup!"

"No," Talaitha says coldly. "What _you_ are doing is a coup. And it's treason."

Dáin shrugs. "What a shame, then, that neither you nor Thorin will have the satisfaction of putting me to death."

Talaitha covers Ara's ears and says flatly, "You plan to kill us."

"Not you, Your Highness," he laughs. "You and your daughter will be sold as slaves to some friends of mine in Rhûn. You two are far more profitable to me alive than dead." Then Dáin sobers, and there is a malevolent glint in his eyes. "My cousin, on the other hand, is not."

"Surely you know that he will not come alone," Talaitha says. "You have what, twelve supporters? Thorin has a mountain-full." She raises her eyebrows meaningfully. " _And_ he also has the Iron Hills now."

Dáin scowls at the reminder, ugly in his anger. "You will soon rue that insolence, Fairy." He motions to a guard, who sets down a plate of bread and meat. "But until then, eat and drink. You and your daughter will need your strength."

He walks away, leaving the two females with their three guards. Talaitha eyes the food dubiously, then picks up the plate to smell the contents. They are neither spoiled nor poisoned, though she hadn't thought they would be. Dáin needs them alive, after all, to receive his payment.

"Are you hungry?" she asks her daughter. The little girl shakes her head, and Talaitha is relieved. She would accept food from Dáin only reluctantly.

"But I am thirsty," Ara mumbles.

Talaitha looks up at one of the guards. "Am I allowed my water skin?" She points to the brown, leather container that the dwarves had taken, along with her bow and quiver.

The guard nods and tosses it to Talaitha, who catches it before it hits Ara.

"Thank you," she says, then mutters, "You stinking bastard."

Ara giggles. The dwarf looks at her sharply, but he had not heard the insult. Talaitha wipes the water skin with her tunic, then hands it to Ara, who drinks greedily. Afterwards, she whispers in her mother's ear, "He really _does_ smell bad."

"That's because he doesn't bathe," Talaitha replies, with a conspiratorial smile. Ara grins and leans back against her mother.

"Daddy will rescue us, won't he?" she asks. She doesn't sound worried, but Talaitha knows that her daughter can be as stoic as her father, when she chooses to be.

"Of course he will, _sz_ _ívem_ ," she says, kissing Ara's temple. "I'm sure he's coming with a bunch of warriors as we speak."

"And then he will defeat Dáin and the other mean dwarves who kidnapped us?"

"Yes," Talaitha replies, being deliberately vague. She suspects that this time, Thorin may very well kill Dáin for his treachery. "Shall I tell you a story while we wait?"

Ara nods. "The one about Nagtael fighting the goblins," she requests. "Can we pretend Dáin and his dwarves are really goblins?"

The guard had definitely heard _that_. He looks down at them and glares.

"We certainly can," Talaitha says, laughing. "If they're going to keep us here, we may as well make fun of them."

Briefly, Talaitha considers she could be pushing her luck, but Dáin needs the two of them alive and healthy, as evidenced by the offer of food. Therefore, unless they try to escape or resist, he will not harm them.

#

It is two hours later, when Ara has fallen asleep in Talaitha's lap, that Thorin arrives, entering the secret cave with a murderous expression. Dáin's dwarves unsheathe their weapons, but it is in vain, for Thorin's force is larger, more skilled, and has a greater motive.

The sentries are swiftly dispatched, as the newcomers forge deeper into the cave. They reach the inner chamber, where Ara and Talaitha are imprisoned. Glimpsing Thorin, Dáin roars and runs at him, his ax held aloft. Thorin easily knocks the cumbersome weapon aside and kicks his cousin's feet out from under him. The dwarf falls to the ground, his knees striking the rocky surface.

Before the traitor can recover, Thorin's sword is at his throat, tip pricking skin. None of Dáin's dwarves move to aid him, because they are held back by the king's companions.

"Give me one reason why I should not kill you now?" Thorin snarls.

Dáin glares up at him, but fear nevertheless flashes across his face at the threat. "You are too soft of heart, that's why."

"I think you will find that I am _not_ ," the king says darkly. He presses the blade into Dáin's neck, drawing blood. The dwarf gasps and tries to pry the sharp weapon away from his throat but only succeeds in cutting his fingers.

"Daddy, no!"

Thorin looks away from Dáin but doesn't move his sword. Even a twitch will result in its slicing his cousin's throat.

Ara runs to her father and hugs his thigh. Talaitha watches curiously, as do the dwarves.

"You can't kill him," the little girl insists. "He may be evil, but he's Nifha's father, and we love Nifha."

Thorin regards his daughter gravely. "What Dáin plotted to do is unforgivable," he says, placing his free hand on her back. "He took you and your mother from me. That cannot go unpunished."

Dáin snorts, and Thorin digs the blade warningly into his neck, sending blood trickling down onto his tunic.

"I know," Ara nods. "But don't kill him. Take him back to Erebor and punish him there."

Thorin sighs, his patience waning. Despite this, however, he cannot deny that his daughter has a point. In the end, he may not spare Dáin, but he will not kill him in a damp cave, let alone in front of Ara.

"Chain him and his lot," Thorin barks, wiping his sword clean on Dáin's shirt. "We return to Erebor."

Ara grins triumphantly and takes her mother's hand. But Talaitha had seen the dangerous glint in Thorin's eyes and knows that her daughter's confidence is premature. She says nothing, though, her hatred for Dáin overruling any mercy she may have felt. She could forgive the dwarf's actions towards herself, but not towards Ara.

When they reach Erebor, they are met by a crowd, the residents having heard about the queen and princess' capture. Among that crowd is Nifha, and she rushes forth now, an unreadable expression on her pretty face.

"Father, how could you?"

Dáin spares her a withering glance. "Do not speak to me," he says coldly. "I did this for you not out of love, but out of a desire to _make_ something of you, since you seem incapable of doing so yourself. Yet you stand there, chiding me for it, while you side with the very people who would deprive you of power."

"Power that I do not want!" Nifha clenches her fists, angry tears forming in her hazel eyes. Fíli steps forward and places a hand on her shoulder. She seems to find comfort in the gesture, for when she looks at Dáin again, she is calm. "I see now that you have long ago forsaken me as your daughter, but I am not so low as to do the same to you. You are still my father, my sire, yet if your fate is to die, I shall not mourn you."

Neither Talaitha nor Thorin believes that, and the thought weighs heavily on his mind, as he orders Dáin and his kin to be taken to the dungeons. Once the crowd has dispersed, Thorin finally allows himself to shed his royal exterior. He scoops Ara into his arms and hugs her tightly, burying his face in her hair. For a terrible moment, Thorin had believed she was lost, but he'd suppressed his emotions then, needing to remain level-headed. They barrel forth now with astonishing force, leaving him gasping for breath.

"My precious princess," he murmurs thickly and kisses Ara's cheeks and forehead and hair. "I was so afraid I would never see you again."

Ara strokes his beard, like she has seen her mother do countless times before, and kisses his nose. "But you're never afraid, Daddy. You're the bravest person I know."

He smiles and reaches for Talaitha, who snuggles against him, as he hugs them both.

"The only thing I fear is something happening to those I love," Thorin replies. He leans down to kiss Talaitha, allowing his lips to linger on hers. "Erebor means nothing without my family."

"Then I think now is as good a time as any to announce that there will soon be an addition to our family," Talaitha remarks. Thorin looks down at her, shocked, despite having received this news twice before.

Ara furrows her eyebrows, affording Thorin a moment to gather his wits. "What do you mean, Momma?"

"I mean that you're going to have a little brother or sister," Talaitha says, lips twitching when Ara claps her hands excitedly. "You've certainly been asking for one long enough."

"I'm going to teach her...or him...how to climb trees and how to swim and how to use a spoon and how to get Bombur to make his strawberry cake..."

While Ara continues listing the things she and her new sibling would do together, Thorin beams at Talaitha and lifts her with his free arm to bring her closer. Their noses brush, and he kisses her, smiling against Talaitha's lips when Ara giggles. The gesture is simple but enough for now. The two of them could have their time later, once their daughter is asleep.

"How _do_ you get Bombur to bake his strawberry cake?" Talaitha asks.

Ara looks at her father hopefully. "Can I show you?"

"Yes," Thorin nods. "We can have a party to celebrate the new baby."

He sets down Ara and Talaitha and takes their hands, the three of them heading for the kitchens, where they are sure to find Bombur.

#

That night, Thorin and Talaitha are in bed, their daughter curled up between them. Craving the comfort only her parents could offer, Ara had asked if she could sleep with them. After the ordeal she had been through, neither Thorin nor Talaitha could deny her, and, if truth be told, both were glad to have her near.

"What will you do about Dáin?" Talaitha inquires softly. She strokes Ara's hair and smiles when the girl reflexively shifts closer to her.

"I will not kill him, though that is what the law mandates," Thorin replies, straining to keep the disgust from his voice. "Death is too easy for he has done. His punishment must be worse, a lifetime of torment."

Talaitha eyes him warily, and his lips twitch at the images her mind is surely concocting. "I will not torture him, if that is what you think." She looks down, smiling sheepishly. "No. _That_ task will be left to someone else."

"By the gods, Thorin," Talaitha remarks, with a stifled laugh. "You're going to send him to Thranduil."

"I am," he affirms, his expression growing serious. "For any dwarf, but especially for one as proud as Dáin, imprisonment in Mirkwood is a fate worse than death." Thorin lowers his voice. "I would know."

"And Nifha will be able to visit him, if she chooses," Talaitha muses and nods approvingly. "She is angry with him, but her heart is too pure to hate him, even now. She should not be punished for her father's misdeeds."

"That was my reasoning," Thorin agrees.

His wife caresses his cheek, her eyes shining with love and pride.

"You are a worthy king," she whispers, leaning carefully over Ara to kiss him. The position is awkward, but he holds her there, as her lips part to touch her tongue to his. They break apart only when their lungs run out of air.

"You and Ara," he places a hand on Talaitha's still-flat stomach, "and now this little one, give me the fortitude I need to endure events like today's." He kisses her again, deeply and thoroughly. "I love you, my fairy."

"I love you, too," Talaitha says, smiling against his lips. "My noble dwarf."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Szívem_ means "my heart" in Szila (and Hungarian).


	24. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final part of Thorin and Talaitha's tale.

The hall buzzes with conversation, punctuated by the metallic _clang_ and _clatter_ of silverware on plates. Ara is seated between Dís and Legolas, the latter of whom looks almost as displeased as his father is to share a meal with dwarves. But the occasion is a special one, so the elves tolerate their hosts' brash and uncouth manners. The humans, however, get along well with the dwarves, smashing tankards of ale and bantering loudly with them. The occasional Lake Towner even attempts a match of arm wrestling against a dwarf. Unsurprisingly, the man loses, but his friends nevertheless continue to place bets on him.

Gimli, Glóin's son, has challenged one of the men to a drinking contest, boasting that his people are never bested when it comes to alcohol. Though he is sitting on the other side of the table, Legolas hears it. He scoffs.

"Apparently he has never competed against an elf, then."

Ara peers up at him and remarks seriously, "I've been to a lot of these feasts, and I've never seen Gimli get beaten."

"How many of those feasts included elves?" Legolas asks wryly.

Ara's eyebrows furrow while she thinks. "Two," she replies, crossing her arms. "Fine, you're right. He's never tried against an elf, but I bet he'd win if he did."

" _Elin tithen_ ," the prince says fondly, "It would be most unwise to bet on that."

"I wouldn't want to anyway. There are better ways to spend your coin." Shouts drift over from the neighboring table. Another man from Lake Town has just lost an arm wrestling match to Dori. Ara grimaces. "I take it back. There are better ways to _lose_ your coin."

Legolas' lips twitch, as he regards the young princess. She's sensible, despite being half dwarf. Perhaps that is Talaitha's influence, but then again, as Thranduil is keen to remind, Talaitha had _married_ a dwarf. Not only married one, but had children with one, as well. Twice.

"How are you enjoying being an elder sister?"

"It's fun," Ara replies, with a shrug. "Unless they throw up or cry all night. But I like the other things they do. They're cute."

Dís asks Ara if she wants more food. The girl hands her plate to her aunt, who scoops a large spoonful of roasted, herb potatoes and places half a pheasant thigh onto it.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, my dear," Dís smiles and kisses the top of Ara's head.

She eats a few mouthfuls, before the doors open and the king and queen enter, each carrying a tiny bundle. The hall goes silent, the bets and contests forgotten, until only soft gurgles and Thorin's footsteps can be heard. Thorin and Talaitha stand at the head of the table, looking thoroughly exhausted but happy. Though they are both dressed in fine clothes, neither wears a crown, as they are among friends. They catch their daughter's eye and beckon her forward.

"As you all know, a month ago, Talaitha gave birth to twin boys," Thorin begins. The guests nod and crane their necks to see the babies, who are snugly bundled in royal blue blankets. "You may also know that twins are incredibly rare among dwarves."

"And among szelemér," Talaitha adds. She shifts the infant to wrap her free arm around Ara's shoulders. The girl leans into her mother, hugging her waist.

"Talaitha and I are proud to introduce Einar," Thorin kisses the forehead of the baby he's holding, "and Vidar." He carefully takes the other infant from Talaitha and kisses his forehead, as well. Vidar whimpers and rubs his eyebrow. "It appears he does not like my beard."

The others laugh and gather around the king and queen to meet the new babies. They look almost identical, except Vidar, the younger by seven minutes, has Thorin's eye color, while Einar's eyes are a much darker blue. The brothers look up at their observers, gurgling and kicking their little legs.

As his family and friends admire his boys, Thorin allows himself to reminisce on the past nine and a half months. They had been an adventure, to say the least...

_The copper-haired woman stands in front of the mirror, turning this way and that and touching her distended belly. Thorin watches her, a small smile on his lips, expecting a complaint about how her breeches no longer fit. But he gets something far less mundane._

_"Look at me," she orders, then blushes prettily when she sees his gaze is already on her. "Do I look bigger to you?"_

_"Bigger than you were before? I believe so, yes," he replies, with fond amusement._

_"No," Talaitha retorts. "I mean bigger than I was with Ara at three months."_

_He cannot remember exactly how large her belly was during each month of her pregnancy, but now that she mentions it, she_ does _seem to be bigger during this one._

_"Yes, actually."_

_"Why is that, do you think?" She's watching him with a coy, almost mischievous expression, as though she already knows the answer and is merely toying with him. But he plays along._

_"Too much cake?" Thorin ducks when a balled-up tunic comes flying at his head. He laughs. "I apologize, beloved." She shoots him a mock-glare but doesn't throw anything else at him. "This child is bigger than Ara was?"_

_"Well, you're_ half _-right," she remarks but says no more. He thinks. "Half" must be the keyword. Half...half of what? And then it hits him._

_"Twins," he breathes, his jaw dropping open. From Talaitha's grin, he knows he is correct. But he still cannot believe it. "Truly? You are truly carrying twins?"_

_"I am," she affirms, walking over to him and stroking his cheek. His hands reflexively settle on her hips, and he drops to his knees to lean his forehead against her belly._

_"Do you know how rare twin births are among dwarves?" Thorin inquires, placing soft, reverent kisses on her stomach. "They occur only every couple hundred years."_

_Talaitha combs her fingers through his hair, her touch gentle and loving. "I do know," she replies. "They are nearly as uncommon among the szelemér. By rights, twins should be impossible for us."_

_"Yet here they are," Thorin whispers, splaying his hands on her belly. "Here they are." Talaitha feels a wetness on her skin and glances at Thorin, as a tear slides down his cheek. She had been surprised when she'd sensed not one but two souls inside her womb, yet seeing her husband's reaction sucks the air from her lungs._

_"Thorin." His name comes out as a whimper, and he's immediately on his feet, hugging her to him as tightly as he dares. He breathes in the scent of her hair, as another wave of emotion surges in his chest._

_"You have given me more than I could have ever hoped for," he says and kisses her neck. "I know of no one who is more blessed than I."_

_She pulls back slightly to kiss him slowly, sensually. "Perhaps you do, for my life is far fuller with you than without you." Thorin kisses her, tangling his fingers in her hair. When his lips leave hers, she smiles. "I never imagined myself a wife or a mother. In fact, I'd never really wanted to be either." Talaitha leans in closer to brush her nose against his. "And then you came along and made me reconsider everything my life had been thus far and what I'd planned for it in the future. I wouldn't have Ara without you, or these two little miracles. If I didn't already love you, I would love you for them."_

Thorin smiles, as he remembers. So many new experiences and challenges awaited...

_"Ouch, Thorin."_

_He stills instantly, his hands placed gingerly upon her hips._

_"No, it's not you," Talaitha assures him, cringing again. "It's these two little menaces. One is kicking my kidneys, while the other pokes into my diaphragm." She shifts atop him, so that her belly rests against his and he is supporting her weight with his arms. He feels one of their sons kick against his abdomen and winces in sympathy if not in empathy._

_"Do you wish to stop?" he asks softly._

_Talaitha shakes her head and clenches around him experimentally. He stifles a groan._

_"I need you, Thorin," she breathes, then flinches as another powerful jab is levied on her kidney. Her head drops onto his shoulder. "I'm sorry for being so difficult."_

_"Hush," he scolds gently and kisses her temple. "You are not difficult." Then he lifts her up and off him, so that she's kneeling above his chest, with her stomach at eye level. Thorin strokes her belly. "My sweet boys," he begins, and Talaitha snorts, "Although I am very pleased you are both so strong and active, I must ask that you allow your mother a rest. She deserves a bit of a reprieve, I think." Thorin pulls her back down, until he's sliding inside her again, coaxing a matching moan from both their lips._

_"And a bit of pleasure," he rumbles, his deep voice sending lust coursing through Talaitha. She begins to move slowly, hands splayed on his chest, and sighs contentedly._

_"Can you talk to my stomach every time they misbehave?" she asks._

_Thorin laughs and leans up to kiss her. "Happily, beloved."_

"They're beautiful, Thorin," Bard says, clapping a congratulatory hand on his back. The gesture sparks another memory...

_Thorin has been banished to his side of the bed, because according to Talaitha, she is too big to cuddle with. He disagrees, but when he had tried to voice as much, she'd glared at him and awkwardly turned onto her side, with her back facing him. He had done as she'd wished for a few nights, but now, as she tosses and turns and sighs and mumbles curses under her breath, he can stay away no longer._

_"I wish you would let me help," Thorin says, edging closer. He touches her shoulder, and when she doesn't move away, he presses his fingers into her lower back, massaging it. She is tense at first, but with each stroke of his hands, she relaxes, until her sighs of frustration become sighs of pleasure._

_"Turn around," he commands softly and lies on his back. He helps her situate herself, so that her belly--quite prominent by the ninth month--is supported by his torso and her head is resting on his chest. She throws a leg over his thigh and snuggles into him, breathing in his comforting, familiar scent._

_"There. Is this not better than sleeping on separate sides of the bed?"_

_"Mmhmm," she mumbles, placing a few kisses on his chest. "You're much better than that full-body pillow."_

_Thorin smiles and resumes massaging her back. "That is the highest compliment I believe I have ever received."_

He is pulled from the reminiscence by Talaitha's voice.

"Poor Vidar didn't have enough room to turn."

Thorin's stomach flips unpleasantly, as he recalls that night...

_Talaitha is draped over his shoulders, kneeling, as a powerful contraction sweeps through her abdomen. She tightens her arms around his neck and whimpers against his cheek. Thorin knows the pain is far worse than she lets on, and he is once again amazed by her strength. Pressing kisses to her clammy forehead, he rubs her back, while D_ _ís strokes her hair and Óin observes the progression of her labor._

_"Soon, Talaitha," says the healer. "Very soon."_

_She buries her face in Thorin's neck, which quickly grows hot from her panted breaths._

_"I need to push_ now _," she groans._

_"Just a little longer," Óin replies calmly. Thorin envies him, for he is only barely maintaining his composure. "You know you could tear if you push too early."_

_Talaitha doesn't respond, but Thorin feels her jaw clench against his cheek, as she works through the urge._

_"You can do this, Talaitha," he soothes. "Just a little bit longer, and we can hold our boys."_

_"It hurts, Thorin," she whispers, so that only he can hear._

_He massages her lower back and kisses her forehead again. "I know, my_ ûrzud. _I would take on the pain, if I could."_

 _Another contraction surges through her, and Óin_ _finally allows her to push. She hunches her back and presses her forehead into Thorin's shoulder for fifteen seconds, before slumping against him. The process is repeated four more times, and then the first baby is sliding out, Talaitha's yell of pain muffled by Thorin's neck. Shrill cries fill the room, and both Thorin and Talaitha breathe a sigh of relief._

_Once the umbilical cord is cut, Talaitha lies back against Thorin and cradles their first son, Einar, to her bare breast. She is able to nurse him for a few minutes, while Óin palpates her stomach. B_ _ut when she sees the healer's grave expression, Talaitha's heart plummets._

_"What is it?"_

_"The second baby is transverse," Óin says. "I need to turn him, or else..."_

_Thorin looks from Óin to Talaitha, a sense of foreboding seeping into his bones._

_"Or else what?" he demands._

_He looks down at Talaitha's face, which is pale with fear._

_"Or else the baby cannot be born."_

_"Then for Aul_ _ë's sake, turn him!"_

_D_ _ís places a hand on Thorin's arm, before taking Einar from Talaitha. He calms somewhat, if only for the szelemér's sake. He allows Óin to position Talaitha flat onto her back, as the healer gently manipulates the baby by pushing on her abdomen. Thorin holds her hand, expecting the procedure to be painful, but Talaitha bears it with only the occasional grimace._

_Until her contractions begin anew._

_"Óin..."_

_"Nearly there," he says, giving one final tug on her belly. "Do you want to kneel again?"_

_Talaitha nods, and Thorin quickly helps her to lean against him, before she's pushing Vidar, the second twin, out. He is born more quickly than Einar was and also cries more loudly. Óin wipes him down and hands him to Talaitha, who looks down at him with tears in her eyes._

_"I bet you are going to be the more troublesome of the two," she chides fondly._

_Thorin chuckles and takes Einar from D_ _ís, kissing his forehead. "He already is."_

He smiles at the memory, just as Vidar begins to cry in Kíli's arms. The archer looks startled and gives him to Talaitha, who holds him to her chest and hums softly. Thorin glances around the room and sees that Ara is sitting in Legolas' lap, holding Einar. He moves closer, in case Einar, too, decides to fuss, though if he's honest, he is also less than keen about his children being alone with the elves.

As he nears the table, Thranduil inclines his head and offers him a goblet of wine. Thorin accepts it.

"To our children," says the elvenking solemnly.

"Aye, to our children." Thorin touches his cup to Thranduil's and takes a long drink. "Although I expected your son to come, I am surprised to see _you_ here."

The elf glances at Einar, then at Vidar, who is now asleep in Talaitha's arms.

"It is not every century that a dwarf sires twins."

Ara smiles brightly at Thorin. "Hi, Daddy."

"Hello, my little princess. Are you all right with your brother?"

She kisses Einar's cheek and nods. "He's been quiet. I think Momma already fed him."

Thorin hides a smirk. Yes, Talaitha had already fed both boys before joining the feast. He sits beside Thranduil and takes another sip of his wine.

"Thrandy, do elves ever have twins?"

The dwarf chokes on the tart liquid, coughing violently.

"Daddy?" Ara questions, as her eyes cloud with worry.

He waves away her concern and tries to catch his breath.

Thranduil's lips twitch for an instant, before he regards Ara with an arched brow.

"Twins are more common among elves than among dwarves and szelemér, but not as common as among men," he explains. "Lord Elrond of Imladris has twin sons, Elrohir and Elladan. I believe you have met them?"

Thorin gapes at Thranduil, shocked at the elf's acquiescence of the nickname. Only Legolas seems to notice his reaction, and he stifles a laugh.

"Yes, but I didn't know Elrohir and Elladan were twins!" Ara exclaims.

"They are," Thranduil affirms. "Though they are not identical."

Ara peers down at Einar, who yawns and stretches his arms above his head.

"Are Einar and Vidar?"

By now, Thorin has regained enough of his composure to answer.

"Einar's eyes are darker, so no, they are not."

"His eyes may change color," Thranduil adds. "They may become green like his mother's."

Thorin nods. He and Talaitha had suspected as much. He looks down at Einar, now asleep. Catching Talaitha's gaze, he takes the baby from Ara, exchanging him for a kiss to her forehead.

"The boys need to be put in their cribs," he says. "Do you want to come?"

The girl shakes her head. "I want to see if Gimli can beat Dwalin in a drinking contest."

The dwarf chuckles. "Very well. I will come get you when it is bedtime." Ara hops off Legolas' lap to hug her father. Thorin wraps an arm around her shoulders and bends down to kiss her hair. "Be good."

"I'm always good," Ara pouts.

"Of course you are," Thorin placates, with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Elin tithen_ is Sindarin for "little star."


End file.
